A Reason to Live
by Desertgal
Summary: 1996-Scott is troubled after a stranger dies in his arms but begins to heal when he helps his new friend Richie Ryan through a difficult time. Meanwhile, Duncan MacLeod has lost his will to live and has disappeared. With the arrival of the renegade Watcher group of Hunters and George Fox, will any of these unusual new friends make it?


DISCLAIMER:

The concepts of Immortality, and the characters used in this work are from HIGHLANDER: THE SERIES which is the property of Davis/Panzer Productions, Inc., Rysher Entertainment and Gaumont Television, and are used without permission. This is an amateur publication intended solely for the entertainment of its readers. No copyright infringement is intended.

The concepts of aliens as used here, and the characters used in this work are from STARMAN which is the property of James Henerson, James Hirsh, ABC Television, and Columbia TriStar Television, and are used without permission. This is an amateur publication intended solely for the entertainment of its readers. No copyright infringement is intended.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dialog from the third season Highlander episode "Courage" written by Nancy Heiken is quoted in this work. The idea of MacLeod being a rock is taken from the third season Highlander episode, "Shadows" written by David Tynan.

Violence Rating: This story contains sword battles, gunfire, and some non-permanent deaths. There is a brief mention of two beheadings. None of this is described in graphic detail. Just as it is in the Highlander series, the violence is implied.

* * *

A Reason to Live  
A Highlander/Starman Crossover  
By: Desertgal  
Copyright 1996

.

Scott Hayden glanced over his shoulder and saw his father close on his heels. "In here, Dad!" Scott shouted as he ran around a corner and into a dark alley. In the late evening twilight, the shadows had already claimed this area of the city as their own.

Paul Forrester followed his son and stumbled into him as Scott's headlong flight came to a sudden standstill. Paul panted, "Don't stop now, Fox isn't far behind us." Less than a half hour ago, father and son were peacefully eating dinner in their second floor apartment. Then a neighbor from the first floor came to tell them a man was asking the apartment manager questions about them and the two fugitives fled on foot. Their quick trip down the fire escape didn't go unnoticed by the police posted outside the building.

Trying to catch his breath, Scott pointed and managed to say, "What...what's that?" The sound of metal clashing against metal reverberated against the narrow walls. In the dim light Scott could barely make out the silhouette of two people going at each other with what looked like swords. "Did we just run into the Three Musketeers?"

"A candy bar?" Paul asked with a puzzled expression. "How can you be hungry at a time like this?"

"No, Dad," Scott said with exasperation in his voice. He wondered to himself _how long it would take for his father to assimilate all of human culture. It had been ten years since his father's return to this planet in answer to Scott's involuntary plea for help. While his dad was now very good at fitting in, almost never making mistakes, there were still times when little things slipped out._ "The Three Musketeers are... Oh, never mind, I don't have time to explain it now. Let's go, Fox and the police will be here soon."

Paul began to walk quickly and silently toward the pair at the far end of the alley.

"Where are you going?" Scott hissed in a loud whisper, and then shook his head as he followed his father.

The Starman said nothing as he advanced on the battle, removing the sphere from his pocket as he went. It was obvious to him that this was a serious fight and people would be hurt. He couldn't stand by and do nothing. When he was about ten feet away, Paul could see one of the combatants was a woman of medium height, with short brown hair. The other was a tall man with long, black hair pulled back into a pony tail.

The woman's sword came down in an arc straight towards the man's neck. He deflected the blow at the last second and stumbled back. The tip of her sword continued its downward motion and sliced a deep, diagonal gash across his chest. Blood welled up in the wound immediately, staining the man's clothes red. Taking advantage of his loss of balance, the woman thrust her sword completely through the man's body, twisted it, and then pulled it out.

Duncan MacLeod dropped his sword and fell to his knees, holding his left hand over the bleeding wound in his chest. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he struggled to reach his weapon.

Laughing diabolically, April kicked the katana out of his reach.

Duncan felt himself starting to get dizzy as blood pumped from his wounded heart. He sat back on his heels and looked up into the eyes of his executioner. He accepted his fate and felt only relief.

Paul watched the woman raise the sword above her head and heard her say, "There can be only one." As the deadly blade swung down, the Starman activated his sphere. The blue light leapt from his hand and enveloped the woman's arm. A bolt of lightning surged from her sword and arced into the sky. A second blast struck the lone light mounted on the wall inside the alley, shattering it.

The woman took her eyes from the man at her feet and stared at the stranger. "Who are you? What are you doing?"

"I'm someone who can't let you kill that man," Paul said quietly.

"You have no right to interfere." She tried to move her sword downward, but found her arm was immobile, as if pinned by a force field.

The man collapsed to the ground and Scott rushed to his side. Placing his hands on the man's chest, Scott's empathic sense told him the wounds were fatal and he knew that quick action would be necessary to save his life. He pulled the sphere from his pocket and whispered to the unhearing form, "Just hang in there, buddy." As he activated his sphere, Scott tried to remember all the things his father had taught him in the years they had traveled together.

Paul's eyes never left the woman's as he said, "Please lower your weapon and leave. I mean you no harm."

Scott concentrated with all his being. He relaxed and visualized the exact nature of the wounds in the man's organs. The sword had punctured the heart and the man was rapidly bleeding to death. Focusing the energy of the sphere, Scott began his attempt to repair the damage.

Struggling to move her sword arm, the woman spat. "What are you doing to me? What is he doing to MacLeod?" She squirmed again, but found her arm held completely motionless. "You can't do this!"

"But I am doing it. I won't allow you to hurt anyone."

"No," Scott moaned, "don't die." He knew his attempts at healing weren't working. He just didn't have time to fix everything. Scott felt the heart beat its last, and saw the chest grow still. Scott cradled the man's head in his lap and looked into the unseeing eyes. He deactivated his sphere, and carefully closed the man's eyelids.

Looking into the face of the man bathed in the blue glow from...from something in his hand, April Groves wasn't sure what she was seeing or feeling. She took a couple of steps backwards and glanced down at the young man and her opponent. "Another time, Highlander." Finding herself released from the strange force, April put her sword under her coat, turned and ran from the alley.

Paul knelt beside his son. A quick examination confirmed what Scott already knew. Paul closed his fingers over the sphere, extinguishing its light.

"Dad?" Scott asked hesitantly.

Paul remembered healing Jenny after she was shot in the head, but knew in this case, he didn't have the luxury of that kind of time. Besides, in his years on earth, Paul had learned that sometimes it wasn't right to interfere in the natural course of life and death. "There's nothing I can do. It's too late for him."

In all of his twenty-three years, this was the first time Scott had seen a person killed. As Scott moved to get up, he gently placed the man's head on the cold, gritty asphalt. He knew he would never forget that face as long as he lived.

The sound of approaching sirens spurred father and son into action. They sprinted from one end of the alley just as a police cruiser pulled into the other.

.

**####################**

.

"Nooooo!" Scott yelled, as he sat up in bed. Panting to catch his breath, he hoped he had not awakened his father again. This same nightmare had haunted him frequently in the three weeks since they'd left New Hampshire. The face of the dead man swam before his eyes even as he lay back on his pillow and tried to return to sleep.

In the next room, Paul lay awake wishing there was something he could do to help his son. The violence of this world always distressed him, but he wasn't sure why this one incident had affected Scott so deeply. Tomorrow they would have to discuss it, again.

%%%

"Do you want to talk about it, Scott?" Paul asked as he passed the milk at the breakfast table.

"What?" Scott snapped, more sharply than he intended.

"The nightmare, tell me about it."

"I've told you before, it's nothing."

"It's not, 'nothing', or you wouldn't keep dreaming about it." How could he get his son to see that keeping his troubles inside did him no good? It wasn't healthy.

Scott looked into his father's face and saw patient understanding. "I felt him dying in my arms. I knew his heart had been cut open and his pain...his pain was overwhelming."

Paul nodded.

"I mean, I don't even know the guy, yet I feel like I let him down." Scott rubbed his eyes. "I should have been able to save him."

"That's not always possible." Paul put his hand on Scott's arm. "Sometimes people die."

"You would have saved him."

"Maybe, if I'd had more time and I could have gotten to him sooner."

Scott got up and took the breakfast dishes to the sink, then turned back to face his father. "How long will it be before I can use what I inherited from you to help people?"

"You already can. You've made great advances in your abilities."

"Not enough, obviously." He turned and began to wash the dishes. Still with his back to his father, he asked, "Does it always hurt so much?"

"No." Paul got up and put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Sometimes you can help people, and then it feels good."

A fleeting smile crossed Scott's face. He was glad he had his father to teach him the meaning of his alien heritage.

.

**####################**

.

Richie Ryan paused for a brief moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark interior of Joe's. Spotting the gray-haired proprietor of the establishment behind the bar, he made his way across the room. "Hey, Joe, you called. Have you got some news about Mac?"

Joe Dawson looked up from his task of arranging the liquor bottles. It was still several hours until the tavern opened, but he hadn't been able to concentrate on the books or on the Watcher business that he needed to do. He just kept moving things around as he tried to resolve his feelings about the conversation he was about to have. "Sit down, Richie."

The look on the Watcher's face made Richie's heart sink. "It's bad, isn't it?" Richie had started to worry about MacLeod a week ago when he had not returned from his trip to New York. He'd left a little over a month ago to go visit his kinsman, Connor. When Richie had been unable to contact the older MacLeod, Joe promised to see what he could find out using the Watcher network.

"Connor's Watcher said Duncan left New York about a month ago heading towards New England at the same time Connor returned to Scotland."

"Connor's Watcher? Aren't you Mac's Watcher?" Richie shouted angrily. "Where were you?"

"Richie..." Joe tried to explain.

"Shouldn't you have been there? Shouldn't you know what happened to him?"

"Richie, calm down," Joe commanded. The uncharacteristic rise in the older man's voice brought silence to the younger. "Listen to me. It doesn't work like that. Our network isn't perfect, and one person doesn't do all the surveillance."

"Okay. So you guys aren't the FBI. Was anyone tracking MacLeod?"

"We did have a Watcher on Mac while he was back east, but she lost him in Boston."

"How? Aren't you people supposed to be experts at tracking us?"

Joe waited for the young man's passion to subside a little. "You know that Mac knows about us. Emily said he was intentionally trying to lose her and finally succeeded. She never did pick up his trail again."

"So, why did you call me over here? To tell me you still don't know anything about where he is?"

Taking a deep breath, Joe pulled himself up on a stool. "No, there's more. Three weeks ago I talked to the Watcher of an Immortal named April Groves. Although she's only about two hundred, she's a headhunter, and good at it. Mark said he's pretty sure April took Mac's head in an alley in New Hampshire."

"Three weeks!" Richie shouted. "You've known about this for three weeks and you didn't tell me?"

Joe studied the young Immortal's face. He had every right to be angry. "I wanted to check out the story before I said anything to you. I've had people combing New England looking for something more concrete than the one report."

"Why didn't you say something when I called you last week? Do you think I'm a kid and can't take it?"

"No Richie; no. You're not a kid, but Mark was so unsure of what he'd seen, I didn't want to upset you if it was unnecessary."

"What do you mean, 'unsure'?"

"It means he didn't actually see the beheading, but he saw the Quickening...and he saw April afterwards."

Richie didn't know what to say. If a Watcher reported a battle and then a Quickening, it was pretty conclusive evidence that his teacher and his best friend was dead. Richie blinked rapidly to keep from shedding any tears. "Tell me...tell me everything. Why didn't he see the beheading?"

"Mark watched as April challenged MacLeod and they took their discussion into an alley, away from the city street. He stayed at the corner but could hear Mac trying to talk her out of fighting."

"That sounds like him. He doesn't like...never liked to kill a woman."

Joe shook his head. "Most of us who knew him said his sense of honor and chivalry would get him killed someday."

"Yeah, I know." The two friends shared a look of pain and memory. Several seconds of silence passed.

With a sigh, Joe continued, "April was getting the upper hand in the duel when Mark was distracted from the scene by the passing of several police cars. He ducked into a doorway to stay out of sight, and it was from there he saw the Quickening rise from the alley, then a few minutes later he saw April run out."

"Why didn't he go back t...to confirm the kill?"

"The police were back, and coming into the other end of the alley. He couldn't very well be found near a beheading victim." Joe paused and stroked his beard with one hand. "You know, Mark said this was the strangest Quickening he'd ever seen, especially for an older Immortal."

"How so?"

"He said there were only a few lightning bolts, no breaking glass from the surrounding buildings, and only one shattered light. You'd think that as powerful as Mac was, his Quickening would have been spectacular."

"That's for sure." Richie was numb as he sat quietly letting the information sink in.

Several seconds passed before Joe asked, "What are you going to do now?"

Richie felt like he was standing on the edge of a deep black hole that was threatening to draw him inside. "I think I need to be alone. I have to say good-bye in my own way." Richie took a couple of calming breaths. "Maybe, then, I'll be able to face going into Mac's loft and taking care of his things." Richie got up and walked towards the door. Just before putting on his sun-glasses, he turned and said, fighting back emotion, "I'll be seeing you."

A few minutes after Richie left, Joe slid off his stool and went into his office. It was finally time to face the task he'd been putting off for weeks. Starting his computer, he opened up the chronicle on Duncan MacLeod, and began to type the terminal report on the Immortal he had watched for almost twenty years.

The words didn't want to come. Joe didn't want to face the fact that he would never see MacLeod sitting at his bar again drinking single malt Scotch. He didn't want to think about the fact that he would never hear that strangely mixed Scottish accent any more. For in the last few years, MacLeod wasn't just an assignment, he was a good friend. Joe had defied all the Watchers' rules and made a mockery of his oath of non-interference, but he wouldn't trade that friendship for anything.

Pushing his chair back, Joe pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the glass enclosed cabinet behind his desk. He removed a leather bound book and ran his hand over the symbol on the front. This was supposed to be at Watcher headquarters, but Joe had convinced his superiors to let him keep it. Opening the cover, Joe began to read the first reports, written in Latin, on the new Immortal, Duncan MacLeod.

.

**####################**

.

Duncan awoke with a shudder, sat upright and inhaled a deep breath. The smell of sweat, booze, urine and feces should have made him gag, but he had lived among the stench for so long he didn't even notice. The single room with the peeling flowered wallpaper had one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The water didn't run in the sink, and the kitchenette stove didn't work. There was no other furniture. The bathroom was down the hall, but usually the toilet was plugged and most often there was no water for the showers.

He wasn't sure if he'd been dead again or just passed out from the whiskey, but he felt like hell. The dirty mattress he sat on was surrounded by empty bottles. In the three weeks since his battle with April, he'd lived almost exclusively on liquor, any kind he could get. Occasionally, he died from alcohol poisoning, but when he came back, he just went and got more booze. Damn his Immortality. He couldn't even get drunk and stay that way for long. He couldn't drink himself into oblivion and forget his troubles because the effects wore off too fast.

The night in the alley was still a blur. Duncan remembered seeing a blue aura and a Quickening. He shook his head as he thought – _I couldn't have seen the Quickening. Surely, you don't see your own Quickening. And why was the aura blue instead of white?_

Nothing about that night made any sense. Duncan knew he should be dead...permanently dead. The last thing he remembered clearly was dropping his sword and looking up into April's face as she raised her weapon for the killing blow. The pain in his chest was excruciating and his feeble attempt to reach his sword had failed. Duncan had never before accepted final death, but in that instant, when he knew he was going to die, he felt peace.

When Duncan revived, there were police all around. He pulled his coat tightly around himself to hide the blood on his clothing, and staggered out. His performance at pretending to be a man just awakening from a drunken stupor should have won him an Emmy. Now, he didn't have to act.

Duncan lay back down, closed his eyes and remembered Brian Cullen's words. "Don't pity me MacLeod. One day it will be you. You can't keep your nerve forever, always looking over your shoulder for a guy with a sword." At the time he had argued with his long-time friend about the drugs that were destroying Brian's life, Duncan never believed Brian would be right.

A tickling sensation caused Duncan to open his eyes and he saw a three-inch cockroach crawling across his arm. He flung the bug away, and stood up. Running his hands through his matted hair, he searched the room for something to drink but all the booze was gone. Duncan had hocked everything he owned except his sword and now he was almost out of money. He had avoided using his credit cards because they were traceable, and he hadn't wanted to be found.

.

**####################**

.

"Hey, Richie," Scott shouted, "wait up."

Richie stopped at the bottom of the steps leading into the Social Sciences building and watched Scott jog towards him. Before MacLeod had left for New York, Richie promised that he would enroll in some classes at the community college. He almost backed out, but at the last minute decided to follow through. Richie had met Scott a month ago in the line for late registration of new students, but in that short time they had become fast friends.

"Where have you been lately?" Scott asked, "I haven't seen you around for a week." He laughed. "You're really going to have some catching up to do in old man Zeist's astronomy class."

"I got some bad news and I had to think things out." After he had left Joe's bar, Richie went to Mac's island and stayed. He tried to imagine what it was like a hundred and twenty-five years ago when Mac had first built the cabin. It had been Mac's place of solace after the loss of his Sioux family. Richie's days spent in solitude while hiking or fishing, and the still, quiet nights spent in remembering the last five years had helped some in easing his loss. But there was still a large, empty place in his life. A grimace of distress crossed Richie's features.

The look was not lost on Scott. He put a hand on Richie's shoulder and almost recoiled at the agony of loss and grief he felt coming from his friend. Slowly, he removed his hand so as not to startle the other young man. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes, there is." Scott kept his eyes focused on Richie's and wished he had more of his father's abilities. He wondered how many years it would take to learn it all. "My dad is always telling me that keeping your troubles inside does you no good. It isn't healthy."

"Well, I never had a father to tell me things like that," Richie snapped. He turned and rushed up the steps. The only man who ever treated him like a father was Mac, and he was gone. Now, both of them were gone; Tessa and Mac - the best 'parents' anybody could want.

Scott watched Richie go, and then followed, deep in thought. _This was the first time in a long time that Scott had found a good friend and he wanted to hang onto that friendship. Also, if he could help Richie, maybe he would feel good about something, and stop having the nightmares._

As he left his world history class, Scott felt a hand on his shoulder. His empathic sense let him know immediately this was a person in distress so he figured it was Richie. There was also something else, something he hadn't noticed before when he had only briefly touched Richie. There was a strange, almost electric aura coming from his friend. It was something he'd never felt before.

"Scott, I'm sorry I got angry earlier. I found out a good friend of mine died and I'm a little on edge."

When Scott turned to face Richie, his friend's hand dropped away so the current of emotion was no longer flowing through him. "Are you ready to talk about it?"

Richie looked away. "Yeah, I think I am. Do you want to come over tonight?"

"Sure." Scott felt a little nervous about trying this on his own. "And Richie, I'd like my dad to come along too. He's really good at helping with these kinds of problems."

Richie had only met Paul Forrester a couple of times, but had taken an immediate liking to him. He was so unlike Mac, yet like him too. Mac was a warrior, and Scott had told him how passive his father was, not even willing to kill a fly. But both men seemed to have a presence about them that defied description, and they both had a wisdom that far exceeded their years. Well, in Mac's case it was because of his age, but most people didn't know that.

"Okay, I think I'd like to get to know your father better anyway. How about the two of you come to the dojo about six? I'll have things closed up and be ready to leave by then. We can go get dinner someplace and then go back to my apartment and talk."

"Dojo?" Scott questioned.

As Richie wrote out the address, he explained, "Dojo is Japanese for a martial arts studio. I manage the place for M..." He paused with a stab of pain. "I manage the place."

Scott clasped Richie on the shoulder. He tried to impart a feeling of peace and well being as he'd seen his father do. "We'll be there." After a few seconds he smiled and walked away.

Not since Tessa died had Richie felt such loss. And this was ten times worse. At least Mac had been there before and they helped each other through her passing. Now, Richie felt completely alone in the world. Yes, he had some friends, and there was Joe, but he didn't think any of them could understand what he was feeling. How could any of them know what it was like to lose a friend he had expected to be with for centuries? Why did he think Scott and his father could? Why did he suddenly feel he would be able to go on with his life? Richie shook his head and headed for his bike.

.

**####################**

.

Duncan took the credit card out of his wallet and then put it back. Another week had passed, and still he sat in the rat and roach infested room, not sure of his next move. His only trips out were to go for an occasional meal at the mission, and to buy booze. Nothing changed in his world of gloom. But now, the landlord wanted more money, and Duncan just didn't have it.

Staring out the curtain-less window, Duncan thought about how he ended up here. He had left Connor with the intention of taking a drive through the fall colors of New England, then heading back to Seacouver. The northeast wasn't the Highlands, but it was pretty scenery, especially with the color at peak. He spotted his Watcher while still in New York, and made a game of trying to lose her. She was good, but his years of experience proved too much for the young mortal. Duncan was finally free and alone to think about what had happened, for he and his kinsman had not parted on the best of terms. _Was there really such a thing as a lasting Immortal friendship? Or, would he someday have to face the reality that there can be only one_?

He had only been on the road a few days when he felt the other Immortal near the town of Nashua, New Hampshire. Duncan was in no mood to fight and tried to talk his way out of the battle, but Kurt Groves challenged him and they met in a secluded wood outside of the town. The man's skill with a sword was not as good as his own, but it had been a hard-fought battle. Twice Duncan thought he was going to lose to Groves, but just managed to escape. Things were going from bad to worse for MacLeod when Groves stumbled on the slippery leaves and that gave Duncan the opening he needed to end the duel. In a battle with a clearly inferior opponent, it was the closest Mac had ever come to losing his head...until he met April in that alley.

Taking another drink, MacLeod closed his eyes and again relived the night he should have died. Every fiber of his being screamed that Duncan MacLeod should be dead right now, yet something had intervened and kept him alive. Duncan knew he had been fatally wounded and had lost his sword. He thought – _Why have I been fighting so poorly? I'm a better swordsman than either April or her husband._ He took another drink of the courage in a bottle and continued his contemplation. _Am I losing my nerve like Brian said? Or is Connor right – that that I'm avoiding the truth and running away from what it means to be an Immortal?_

Duncan drained the last of the fiery liquid into his throat, and then smashed the bottle against the wall. He removed the credit card again, stared at it for a few minutes, and then put it away. He stood, put on his long, black trench coat, and placed his sword inside. He didn't look back as he closed the door for the last time on this chapter of his life.

.

**#####################**

.

"Which way?" Paul asked.

"Turn left and go to the next light, then turn right." Scott stared absentmindedly at the passing buildings. "You know, Dad, I can't believe we've been here almost five weeks."

"It is hard to believe, isn't it? But it is nice to have some peace, for a change."

"And to have a friend," Scott said in a subdued voice.

Paul glanced at his son and wished he could ease his pain from so many lost friendships.

"Turn left at the next corner. It's that red brick building in the next block." Scott looked at his father. "You know, we really need to start looking for Mom again."

With a pang of guilt, Paul met his son's eyes for just an instant. He hadn't forgotten their search for Jenny, but the recent stability had given Scott and him some much needed rest. "I know," he agreed as he parked the car.

As they stood at the bottom of the stairs, Paul placed a hand on his son's shoulder. Scott had grown so the two were now the same height. "Let's go see if we can help your friend who runs this 'dojo'."

They went inside and saw Richie standing in front of a large freight elevator. "Hey, Richie," Scott shouted as he and his father walked across the open floor of the workout room.

Richie turned and sighed. He was already regretting his decision to talk about Mac. He had tried to call and cancel the invitation, but had gotten no answer. It was no wonder as they were at least a half hour early. Richie just wanted to go up to the loft and remember Mac and how it used to be. Ever since he'd left Scott at the campus, Richie had felt better and he did think he was ready to face some of his fears. But he wasn't sure he wanted to face them with an audience.

"Hello, Scott, Mr. Forrester," Richie said with forced pleasantness.

"It's Paul," he said as he reached out to shake the young man's hand. _Nice custom, this shaking hands,_ Paul thought._ It gives me a way to sense someone and not be threatening._

Scott saw his father's eyes go wide with a strange look when he touched Richie. Hoping Richie hadn't noticed, Scott asked, "Where does the elevator go?"

"Up to M...to Mac's loft."

He released the young man's hand, but Paul was very puzzled by some of the sensations he'd felt. _There was the loneliness, sorrow, and even fear he'd expected, but there also was a great anger. And there was that strange energy Scott had described_. "Mac? He was your friend who died?"

"Yes," Richie said, as he began to pull the elevator closed. "If we're going to get something to eat, I guess we better go."

Putting one hand up to stop the elevator gate, and the other on Richie's shoulder, Paul said, "I think you need to go up to the loft."

Richie looked into the calm eyes of this man he barely knew, and just nodded. The three rode up in silence and Richie wondered _why he was taking these strangers into Mac's most private place. Why did he feel this was the right thing to do?_ When the elevator stopped, Richie made no move to open it. He just stared into the room that held so many memories.

Scott glanced at his father, and then opened the elevator. They waited until Richie was ready, and then followed him into the one room living area. Father and son stood silently as the young man before them faced his personal demons. They watched as he touched the coffee maker, the chair, and then opened a cabinet that contained several bottles. He went to several more items in the room, then finally stopped at the couch, sat down and began to finger one of the chessmen on the board.

"When he left, we were in the middle of a game." Richie paused and took a deep breath. "I wasn't very good, but he was teaching me." The tears came.

Scott and his father exchanged a look. Both knew this was too much for Scott to try to deal with, so it was Paul who went and sat next to Richie. "Can you talk about it?"

With eyes closed, Richie whispered, "He taught me so many things. There was so much more I could have learned from him." Opening his eyes, he wiped away the tears. Richie felt embarrassed at his show of emotion, but somehow, he didn't feel any judgment from this man. He looked straight into Paul's eyes as he said, "Mac was the father I never had."

Paul knew the time was right, and drew Richie into a hug. He let his empathic senses impart waves of calm into this troubled soul.

Someday Scott hoped he would learn to use his abilities to help people like this. After several minutes, Scott approached the couch and stood waiting. When the emotion of the moment was over, and Paul had released Richie, Scott sat down on the other side of him.

Richie looked between father and son. "I don't know what just happened, but I feel better now than I did after a whole week trying to sort things out myself."

Scott smiled. "Good."

"Talking about your problems always helps," Paul said. "Everyone needs a friend, or companion, or even a parent in whom they can confide their joys and pain."

A few seconds of silence passed as Richie thought about what had just happened. He felt as if a weight had been lifted from his heart. He hadn't wanted to accept Mac's death, but now that reality didn't frighten him so much. He was ready to let go of the pain and only remember the good things. "You're very lucky to have your father with you, Scott. It really is something special."

"I know." He paused. "But it hasn't always been like this. I was fourteen when he found me."

"Found you?"

"Dad had to leave before I was born and..." Not knowing how to continue without giving away their secret, Scott gave his father a pleading look. He couldn't very well tell Richie his father was an alien from another planet, and that he was half alien.

"My work took me away. I thought Scott would be safe with his mother."

"Where is your mother?" Richie saw a pained expression come over his friend's face and wondered if he'd made a mistake in asking.

"We're looking for her," Scott said. And, he thought, _someday, we'll find her and be a real family._ "She had to give me up when I was three. I lived in foster homes until Dad came back. That was ten years ago."

_Hmmm,_ Richie thought, _Scott didn't know his father until he was a teenager and I met Mac when I was just a little older. We actually have several things in common, though of course, he's just a normal guy_. "I never knew either of my parents. I lived in foster homes until I ran away at sixteen." And, he continued to himself, _if Mac and Tessa hadn't taken me in when they did I would be in prison now, or dead...'really' dead._

Paul placed a hand on Richie's knee. This young man had just lost the only 'family' he knew and he was feeling very vulnerable and alone. As Paul again imparted a sense of well-being and calm, he still couldn't figure out the feeling of strange power in Richie. "Maybe someday, you'll find your parents too."

_I know that won't happen,_ Richie thought. _No Immortal knows who their parents are. None of us know where we come from or what makes us Immortal. Mac wouldn't like me thinking it, but sometimes I wonder if maybe we're from some other planet. Nah, I know that's not true. There's no such thing as aliens._

"Well," Richie said, letting out a deep breath, "what do you say we go get something to eat. I don't know about you guys, but I'm starved."

"Me too," agreed Scott.

Paul just laughed. He could see that Richie and Scott were a lot alike, and he was glad his son had found a friend.

.

**####################**

.

Duncan MacLeod rested his head against the seat back and closed his eyes. Even though it would take almost a week of travel by bus to get from Nashua to Seacouver, he was in no hurry.

Using his credit card to get a hotel room where he could clean up had been interesting. No one wanted to believe someone who looked like he had lived on the street would have a VISA gold account. Finally, when they could find no record of the card being stolen, and they had matched his signature, he got his room. The new clothes and the shave made him look like the old Duncan, though he was considerably thinner. But he didn't feel like the man he used to be. He didn't think he would ever again be the Highlander; a powerful Immortal to be feared and hunted as part of the Game.

The Game; the destiny of all Immortals; to fight and kill each other until only one remained. Duncan remembered his last conversation with Connor, six weeks ago….

…"You can't run away from it, Duncan. You've tried before."

"I'm not running from anything! I just don't see the need for all the killing."

"We're not supposed to see a need!" Connor shouted. "It's what we do; it's what we are!"

Duncan paused and took a couple of calming breaths. "You didn't have to take his head."

"Yes, I did. Creamer challenged me, and even if he hadn't, I would have fought him. He deserved to die for what he let happen to those villagers in Saxony."

"That was in 1604! Couldn't you have left it in the past?" Duncan asked.

"Time doesn't make any difference."

"He wasn't evil," Duncan insisted. "He just made some bad choices. Did he have to die for those mistakes?"

"He died because he was an Immortal, and I was better. That's the way it's been for centuries and that's the way it will be until the end." Connor walked away from his younger kinsman and stood staring out a window. Finally, he said, "I know you thought of him as your friend."

"He was a very good friend. I knew him almost as long as I've known you."

"You can't let friendship cloud your judgment when it comes to the Game," Connor said. "You know as well as I that things can change and the person who was your friend fifty, a hundred, two hundred years ago can be your enemy today."

The faces of some of the men and women Duncan had called friend swam before him; Gabriel Piton, Tommy Sullivan, Nefertiri, Brian Cullen, Michael Moore, Jim Coltec. These were the faces of friends who had turned on him; these were the faces of friends Duncan had killed. Was Connor right?

"When someone comes after you, you have to be ready…and do what it takes to survive even if that person was a friend."

"Are we doomed to walk this earth for centuries looking forward only to killing and death? If we can't enjoy life, if we can't have companionship, if we can't have friends, what is the point of living?"

Connor shrugged and faced Duncan. "No man – mortal or Immortal – knows the meaning of his life. We just take one day at a time trying to understand it all."

"But they don't kill each other to survive. If all I have to look forward to in life is killing my friends, I don't think I want to go on."

"You've 'gone on' for centuries," Connor shrugged. "What's so different about now?"

"I'm just tired of it all; tired of killing; tired of death; and…tired of everyone I care about dying."

"So, what are you saying," Connor shouted, "that I should have let Creamer take my head?"

"No, I just think the two of you could have settled your differences without either of you dying."

"You just don't get it, do you? It doesn't work that way for us!" Connor slammed his fist into the table. "Face it, Duncan, ultimately Immortals can't be friends." Connor paused to let his temper cool. "You and I, we think of ourselves as kinsmen, but we're not. We were just found and raised by the same clan. Someday, we might have to face each other."

The pain in Duncan's face was clear. Connor and Duncan stared at each other for a long moment before Connor continued, "There can be only one. No matter how much you want to, you can't change that." Connor turned his back on this man with whom he shared so much and left the room.

Duncan didn't speak to Connor again before he packed his bag and left to drive through New England….

…With the decision made to return to Seacouver, Duncan felt more happiness and peace than he had in weeks. He had lost a lot of friends throughout the centuries, but had never thought much about what it would be like for others when he was gone. Duncan knew he had been away too long and he needed to see Richie and Joe.

.

**####################**

.

Scott landed flat on his back. "Not funny, Richie."

"Well, you said you wanted to learn some moves."

"Sure, but I didn't know all of them would have me on the ground." Scott sat up and placed his arms across his knees. "How did you learn all this stuff?"

Grabbing a couple of towels from a bench, Richie plopped down on the mat in front of Scott. "Mac taught me." He tossed a towel at Scott. "Sometimes we would train for hours."

It was good to see Richie so relaxed. In the two weeks since their talk in the dojo loft, Scott had sensed a change in his friend. The physical contact of their recent sparring match had confirmed it. The sadness and grief were still there, but they were no longer consuming his whole existence. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you train so much?"

Richie thought for a few seconds. _He couldn't very well explain that learning to fight and to kill was what kept him alive. Scott led such a normal life. He never had to think about someone coming after him; of someone trying to hurt him or his father_. Richie shrugged. "It was good exercise. Mac also used some of the forms to help him through the bad times, the times when someone had died." _Or_, Richie thought to himself, _the times when Mac had to kill._ "Working through a kata, a form, takes concentration and it helps your mind as well as your body."

"You know, my dad didn't really understand why I wanted to learn this."

"Why not?"

"He doesn't believe in fighting." Scott remembered _a few times in their years on the run, living on the street, when being able to defend himself could have come in handy. Some of the moves he'd seen Richie use would have made escaping from Fox that much easier._ "But I told him the martial arts are a way of getting out of fights, not starting them."

Remembering some of the talks he'd had with Mac about knowing when to stand your ground and when to walk away, Richie nodded. "That's true." Savoring for a moment his new role as teacher rather than student, he grinned. "Are you ready to go again?"

Before Scott could respond, he saw an unusual expression cross Richie's face. He watched as Richie began searching the room as if he was trying to locate a strange sound. "What is it?"

Richie got to his feet, and focused all his attention on the front door of the dojo. He felt another Immortal approaching and the closest sword was hanging on the wall, out of reach. He hoped that since there was a mortal present, whoever it was wouldn't challenge him.

As he scrambled to his feet, Scott brushed against Richie's leg. He pulled back his hand as if he'd been burned. The electric aura was much more intense than it had been just a few minutes ago. Richie's whole being was alive with anticipation, confidence, and a little fear. The sudden change didn't make any sense to him and Scott turned to look in the same direction as Richie, wondering what they were waiting for.

The man who walked into the room couldn't be standing there. This was the face in his nightmares; the man Scott had held in his arms as he drew his last breath so many weeks ago. Blinking his eyes didn't help. The image didn't go away.

"Mac?" Richie whispered. He ran to greet his old friend, "Mac! Where have you been?"

Dropping his bag, Duncan MacLeod gave the young Immortal a big hug. "Hello, Richie. It's been a long time."

"A long time! Is that all you have to say? We thought you were dead!"

"Me? Dead? Why?"

"Because Joe said one of the Wa..." Remembering Scott was in the room, Richie stammered, "Just...just because you haven't called in over two months."

"I was...occupied."

"What kept you so busy that you didn't have time to even call me, or Joe?"

"Later, Rich." Duncan looked over to where the young mortal stood with his mouth hanging open.

Understanding the need for discretion, Richie dropped his questions for now. He motioned towards Scott. "Come meet my friend."

As he watched Richie and the other man approach, Scott felt like he was in the Twilight Zone. He saw the ashen face, the blood-stained chest, the disheveled hair of this man now walking towards him. He experienced the pain of the punctured heart and felt the life flow from his body.

"Scott Hayden, this is Duncan MacLeod."

"You're dead," Scott gasped.

With an amused smile, Duncan reached out to shake the young man's hand. "No, I'm not, even if both you guys keep saying it. Like Sam said, 'The report of my death was an exaggeration'."

"Who?" Scott asked as he reached out to take the offered hand.

"Never mind, just an old friend."

Richie stifled a laugh. He could see Duncan and Samuel Clemens sitting around drinking, partying with the ladies, and playing poker on a Mississippi stern wheeler during the nineteenth century.

As Scott clasped the hand of this tall, dark-haired man, he felt the same electricity he had in Richie. But there was something else, too. His soul was troubled with a deep, dark despair. The man had no will to live.

"Not very talkative, are you?" Duncan teased.

"I...I'm just so surprised to meet you." Scott wanted to say something about the night in the alley, but he dared not. It was just too weird and he needed to talk to his father about it. "Richie told us..."

"Yeah, I heard. He said I was dead."

Releasing the handshake, Scott backed away a couple of steps. "I think I'd better be going. You guys have a lot of catching up to do."

"Okay," Richie said. "I'll see you in class tomorrow."

Scott managed to walk, not run, to the locker room. When he came out, Richie and MacLeod were gone.

%%%

While MacLeod showered, Richie called Joe Dawson and told him about the return of the missing Immortal. Joe said he would be there as soon as he could make it.

Richie then began to prepare a lunch, but soon discovered there wasn't much food in the place. When Duncan left for his month with Connor, he had cleaned out the perishables and with no one there to shop, the refrigerator was bare.

Just as Duncan came out of the bathroom, Richie was placing some canned meat, canned fruit, canned vegetables, and stale crackers on the counter. "It's not much, but it will be filling."

Duncan went to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of single malt Scotch. He removed the top, and took a long, satisfying swallow. This was much better than the rot-gut whiskey he'd been drinking for the past month and a half.

The change in MacLeod was real. Richie hadn't wanted to see it before, but now, as he stood with only a towel wrapped around his waist, Richie could see the man was skin and bones. That combined with the way he was guzzling down the whiskey, led Richie to realize his friend was in serious trouble. He would never be able to defend himself against another Immortal. _Hell_, Richie thought, _I could take him, the shape he's in now._

"Hey, Mac. Let's eat." Putting on enthusiasm he really didn't feel, he continued, "I'm starving."

The old refrain stopped MacLeod and he smiled. "All right, just let me put some clothes on first."

.

**####################**

.

Scott paced. Then he sat. Then he paced some more. It was almost time for his father to come home from work, and he couldn't sit still. When he heard the car drive up, he rushed out the door. "Dad! I've got to talk to you."

Sensing his son's agitation, Paul asked, "What's wrong? Is Fox here?"

"No, nothing like that. I saw him. I touched him. He's not dead."

"Who?" Paul asked as he tried to make his way up the driveway to the house.

"The man in the alley, in New Hampshire. He's here, at the dojo."

Paul watched his son jumping up and down like he was a little kid again. "Let's go in the house and you can start at the beginning."

Barely able to constrain himself, Scott helped carry in the groceries. He then began his tale again, explaining the whole scene at the dojo.

"So, Richie's friend, Mac, isn't dead," Paul said.

"Right."

"And this same friend is the man we saw die."

"Yes."

"So, Mac is dead because we saw it, but now he's not because he's at the dojo with Richie."

"Yes."

Paul shook his head. "Do you know how confusing that sounds? I thought I was the one you accused of always getting things mixed up."

"But nothing's mixed up, Dad. He's there. I touched him. You don't forget the face of someone who died in your arms." Scott remembered the handshake. "And, Dad, he has that same strange electric feel that Richie does."

Paul raised one eyebrow. "Are you sure? I had never felt anything like that until I met Richie. Now you say his friend has it too?"

Grabbing an apple off the counter and taking a big bite, Scott continued, "I know it sounds strange, but I know what I felt. I think we need to go over there and talk to him."

"I believe you, Scott, but we should give them some time alone. We can go visit in a few days if Richie and his friend want to see us."

Taking another bite, Scott nodded. As usual, his father was right. Scott wondered what he would dream about tonight.

.

**####################**

.

"Give me another one," Duncan growled as he slammed the glass down.

Joe looked at the man sitting at his bar and didn't recognize him. Yet, it was Duncan MacLeod, the Immortal Joe had watched for years. But, till, he didn't recognize him. "Don't you think you've had enough, Mac? You're on your fourth bottle of Scotch."

"No, I've not had enough. What are you worried about, that I'll get drunk?" He sneered and let out an evil laugh. "It doesn't work that way for me and you know it. Now, if you won't give me more whiskey, I'll just go someplace else." He tried to stand, but staggered back against the stool.

While it was true that the effects of alcohol on Immortals wore off quickly, Joe knew they could get just as drunk as the next man. And a drunk Immortal was much more dangerous to have around, prone as they were to fighting and killing each other. Joe put his hand on Duncan's arm. "What do you say we go get something to eat? I think..." Joe stopped when he saw Mac look around and then face the door. Another Immortal was approaching.

%%%

"I can't thank you guys enough for agreeing to come see Mac," Richie said. "I don't know what you did, but I felt so much better after talking to you that night in the loft that I could have gone on the rest of my life without MacLeod."

"But you didn't have to," Paul said. "He's not dead."

"No, but he's troubled. He's just not himself and I don't know what to do."

Scott glanced at his father. In the days since Duncan MacLeod's return, Scott had wanted his father to meet him, but there had been no opportunity. Richie hadn't talked about him, and on his father's advice, Scott had not pushed. "Well, it's not every day someone comes back from the dead. I imagine that's quite a traumatic experience."

In spite of his concern and gloomy mood, Richie couldn't help but smile at Scott's statement as he thought, _you have no idea, my friend._

Paul gave Scott a warning look. They'd agreed to not mention the events in the alley. He knew it was unlikely this was the same man they had seen die, but his son was so convinced, he did want to see for himself.

As they approached Joe's tavern, Richie felt the presence of another Immortal. He just hoped it was Mac. Opening the door, he held it as Paul and Scott entered. Scanning the room, he located the buzz coming from the bar and gave a sigh of relief to see it was his friend.

"Hello, Richie," Joe called out, as the three men approached the bar.

"Hi, Joe. I'd like you to meet Scott Hayden, and his father..."

"...Paul Forrester," MacLeod finished.

A look of discomfort crossed Paul's face. _Uh-oh,_ he thought, _someone else who knew the real Forrester. I wonder what kind of history they had together._ "Yes, I'm Paul Forrester."

Duncan turned back to Joe. "What about that refill?"

There was an uncomfortable silence for several seconds. Richie had never seen Mac be so rude and downright surly. "I take it the two of you know each other?"

The only sound was that of pouring liquid as Joe filled Duncan's glass. "How about you guys? Do you want something?" Paul and Scott ordered fruit juice, and Richie asked for a beer.

While waiting for the drinks to be served, Paul glanced between his son and Richie's friend. With an almost imperceptible nod, Paul acknowledged what Scott already knew. This was the man they had seen die. Paul was very curious about how Duncan MacLeod came to be sitting next to him in this bar. From everything he had learned about humans, rebirth from death wasn't possible for them. He wanted to know more, but knew this wasn't the time to pursue it.

Trying again to start a dialog, Richie turned to Paul, "Where did you guys meet?"

"I...I..." Paul began, but didn't know how to continue. It was always this way when something in the real Forrester's past came up, because Paul didn't have any of the 'other' guy's memories.

"What's the matter?" MacLeod snarled, "Don't you want your son to know about you?"

"Well, it was a long time ago, and perhaps is best left in the past."

To MacLeod it wasn't so long ago as he remembered what had happened twelve years previously in Paris . . . . . . .

.

_. . . . . . . "Just leave me alone!" Tessa shouted._

_Forrester smirked at the pretty blond. "I know you want to go out with me. Admit it."_

_"No! I don't!" She backed away from the man._

_"Well, if we can't go out, then maybe we can just take our pleasures here." Forrester advanced towards Tessa and gave her his most charming smile. "That's a nice looking bed over there." Neither Tessa nor Forrester heard MacLeod come silently into the room as Forrester continued, "I'm sure we could put it to some good use."_

_Stepping back a couple more steps, Tessa picked up a sculpture and held it like a club. "You shouldn't be here."_

_"That's right. You don't belong here," MacLeod said with a calm that defied what he was really feeling._

_Forrester looked over the woman's shoulder at the tall man with the long black hair. "Who are you?"_

_"I'm the guy who's going to kill you if you don't get out of here." When the man made no move, MacLeod stepped forward, and with menace in his voice said, "Now."_

_Forrester raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay. I was only trying to have a little fun. A pretty woman like that shouldn't be running around alone."_

_"She's not alone."_

_As Tessa ran to Duncan and they embraced, Forrester grabbed his camera and slipped out, unnoticed._

_"What did he do to you, Tess?" Duncan caressed her face, gently._

_"Nothing."_

_"It wasn't nothing." He hugged her again. Duncan knew he shouldn't have been so threatening to the man, but in his need to defend Tessa, his anger overcame his reason. "Tell me all of it."_

_The two of them moved to the sofa and sat side by side. Tessa took a couple of deep breaths before starting. "His name is Paul Forrester and he's a photographer. A magazine hired him to take pictures of my exhibition."_

_"And you didn't tell me about it?"_

_"I didn't think anything of it. After all, he was there on business and the publicity for the show was welcome. At first he just seemed friendly."_

_MacLeod took Tessa's hands in his. They were cold. Duncan regretted not being there for her. Why did all the women he loved have to be hurt? "But things changed."_

_"Yes. Not too long after you left on your trip, he started trying to get me to go out with him. Every day for a week he tried some new line, brought me little gifts, and kept trying to get me to change my mind." She paused and closed her eyes. Her heart was still beating rapidly and she took several breaths to calm herself. "He just wouldn't take no for an answer."_

_"And today? What was different about today?"_

_"He followed me home." Tessa embraced her lover and put her head on his shoulder. She breathed in the smell of his cologne and felt his beard stubble against her skin. "Oh, Mac, I didn't even know he was here. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't come in when you did."_

_"It looked to me like you were putting up a pretty good defense."_

_Tessa snuggled closer, feeling only relief that her life companion was with her. She murmured, "Umm, uh-huh."_

_"It's all right, you're safe now." Duncan stroked her hair gently. "I'm here and I won't let anything happen to you, ever again." . . . . . . . ._

_._

. . . . . . . . "I know something has made you angry, but I'm not that Paul Forrester anymore." He placed a hand on MacLeod's arm. "I've changed."

Duncan pulled his arm away and glared at the others, daring them to say or do anything. Why couldn't they just leave him alone? All he wanted was to drink and forget.

In the brief contact, Paul saw a flash of images he didn't understand; Men in uniforms, a woman dying, blood, headless bodies, lightning, and swords. He also felt the man's misery and hopelessness, but most of all, that strange energy he had felt in Richie. "I think we better go now, Scott."

"Do you have to?" Richie asked. He knew if MacLeod would talk to Paul it would help him to snap out of this mood.

Paul put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Yes. Maybe there will be another time when things will work out better."

A few minutes after Paul and Scott left the bar, Richie followed. Having MacLeod back like this was almost worse than thinking he was dead.

It was a couple of hours later when Mac called out, "Hey, Joe, I'd like you to do something for me."

Walking to the end of the bar where MacLeod had been sitting all afternoon, Joe sighed, "Get you a seventh bottle of booze?"

"No." He pushed the glass and bottle away. "I want you to check out Forrester. Find out what he's been doing for the last few years and how he came to have a kid."

"Why?" Joe placed the empty glass and bottle behind the counter. He hoped Mac wouldn't ask for more to drink. _He'd had enough, even for an Immortal._

"The guy's got an angle of some kind, I know it. Besides, I just don't trust him. He's acting weird."

"He seemed like a nice enough guy to me."

"That's my point, Joe," Mac insisted. "Paul Forrester is not a nice guy. He's a photojournalist and an opportunist."

"So?" Joe raised an eyebrow. "There are a lots of reporters in this city."

"Yes, but not all of them are hanging around Richie. That man will stop at nothing to get a story and make a name for himself. A cover story in a news magazine about Immortals and Watchers would be something neither of us wants."

"Yeah," Joe agreed. "I'll see what I can dig up."

.

**####################**

.

"How can he be alive, Dad?" Scott placed the soup on the table as his father got the bowls and utensils from the cupboard. "We both saw him die in that alley and we both saw the same guy yesterday in that bar."

"I know. There is something very unusual about Richie's friend."

"It doesn't make sense. People don't die and then come back to life. It's just too weird."

Paul raised one eyebrow and grinned. "Sort of like an alien landing on the planet?"

"Ah, Dad. I'm trying to be serious here. Unless you think maybe he's some kind of alien?"

As father and son sat down to their meal, Paul's expression sobered. "No, I don't think that. At least I don't recognize him as being of any species I've encountered before."

"You felt the electricity in him too, didn't you?"

Paul paused as he remembered his brief contact with Duncan MacLeod. "Yes, but I'm not sure it's 'electricity' we are feeling. It's more like...like an energy force."

"Well, whatever you call it, it's weird."

"I also saw something else, something I don't understand."

"What?" Scott took a bite of his soup.

"When I touched him I saw scenes of violent death." An involuntary shiver went up Paul's spine. "It was very disturbing."

"What do you think you saw?"

"I don't know. It was almost like they were memories, but I've never gotten such clear impressions from humans before. Some of the stuff couldn't have been memories because they were scenes that looked like the pictures in your history books."

"That doesn't make any sense," Scott said.

"I know it doesn't. That's why I'd like to talk to him and get to know him better."

"I don't think that's going to happen. Forrester must have done something pretty bad to the guy. He didn't want to have anything to do with you."

"I know," Paul agreed, "but we have to find a way. Duncan MacLeod is a man in a great deal of pain. He needs our help."

%%%

"Mr. Fox, we've got an inquiry coming through about Paul Forrester." Edna handed the paper to her boss.

George Fox slammed his coffee cup down, almost spilling the contents. Not waiting to read the report, he asked, "From where?"

"Seacouver. I've booked you on a flight that leaves in six hours. It has a couple of long layovers so you'll get there late tomorrow evening."

"Nothing sooner than that? Did you try all the airlines at all the airports?"

"Yes, sir. You could go wait on stand-by, but because of the holiday, all the earlier flights are full."

"Is there any chance I can get backup, Edna?"

His secretary looked at him with regret in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fox, but the general was very specific when he gave the clearance for this trip. You will be on your own out there."

Fox sighed and closed his eyes. I guess I should be thankful I'm being allowed to pursue this lead at all. With so little proof of the alien's existence, this project is not a high priority. "I'll call you as soon as I arrive. You keep monitoring for other inquiries." Fox grabbed his coat and always-packed travel bag and headed to the airport. He hoped some other passenger didn't make his flight so he could get out of town earlier.

%%%

Richie jerked his sword upwards, caught MacLeod's katana at the hilt, and pulled it out of his hand. As it skittered across the dojo floor, Richie knocked Mac to his knees with a fist in the solar plexus and placed his rapier at his teacher's throat. "That's three times, Mac. What's wrong with you?"

As he sat back on his heels, Duncan shrugged his shoulders. "I guess I'm a little out of shape."

"Out of shape!" Richie pulled his sword back and thought, _this is not the man I knew._ "If this weren't practice, you'd be dead right now!"

Duncan looked up at this young man who was just starting his Immortal life with the centuries stretching before him as an unmarked slate. "You know 'there can be only one'."

"Is that all you can say?"

"I think I need a drink." MacLeod got to his feet and started to the elevator.

"You don't need a drink. You need to start fighting like your life depended on it."

"Don't tell me what I need!" MacLeod slammed the elevator gate closed and punched the up button.

Richie let the tip of his sword touch the floor as he watched his friend leave. Ever since the fiasco at Joe's yesterday, Richie had been trying to figure out a way to get Mac to talk to Scott and Paul. He went into the office and made a phone call.

.

**####################**

.

"I don't like lying, Scott."

"It's not really telling a lie, Dad. We're just going to 'accidentally' be at the dojo when Mac shows up. I have been practicing with Richie and you just decided to come along this time. You wanted to see what I was learning."

Paul gave his son a look that said he didn't approve as they entered the building. He sat on a bench against the wall and watched as Richie and Scott began working out.

It surprised Scott when he managed to land a solid blow against Richie's side, but something had distracted his friend. Turning in the direction Richie was looking, Scott soon heard the elevator coming down.

When MacLeod opened the gate, he took one look at the assembled group. Wanting no part of another meeting with Forrester, he started to pull the gate closed.

"Mac, wait," Richie called as he ran to stop the elevator. "Scott's father has come to see what we do here. I thought we could show him some moves."

Duncan scowled, but then his expression changed to a devilish grin. "Sure, I'll show Mr. Forrester some things." He strode over to where Paul sat. "So you want me to teach you something about the martial arts?"

Standing, Paul said, "Well, I always like to learn new things."

"No, Mac" Richie interrupted. "I meant you and I would give a demonstration."

"I think Mr. Forrester would learn more my way." Gesturing to the mat, he asked, "Shall we?"

With a glance at his son, Paul moved to the middle of the room. Five seconds later, he was flat on his back. He looked up at the sneer on MacLeod's face, and got to his feet. Twice more, he landed on the floor. Each brief physical contact gave Paul a little insight into this mystery man.

"You're not doing very well for a guy who thinks he's hot stuff," MacLeod taunted.

From his position at Duncan's feet, Paul said, "I'm not the same Paul Forrester you knew."

"Oh, really."

Paul stood and placed a hand on Duncan's shoulder before he could be thrown again. "Don't you believe people can change? Don't you think it's possible for someone to leave one life, move on and become someone completely different?"

Staring into the eyes of this man, Duncan felt a calm come over him. He didn't know how to answer the question for it came too close to what he and all Immortals had to do every decade or so. He said nothing.

A jumble of images filled Paul's mind. There was pain, joy, love, and hate. There were scenes of unspeakable horror, anonymous killing in wars and individual hand-to-hand combat. He saw many nights of passion with a variety of women. But the overriding emotions coming from this man were anger and fear. "You wonder why you're still alive after that night in the alley."

"What? How...how do you know about that?" Mac stammered.

"My son and I were there. We saw you and the woman fighting with swords. We saw you...die."

Scott noticed a very small, but distinct head jerk from Richie when his father made that last statement. _I imagine that what Dad is saying must sound really strange,_ Scott thought. _Sword fights are not something you hear about every day._

_Oh, great_, MacLeod thought,_ mortal witnesses to my death, and a journalist no less._ Trying to give a plausible explanation, MacLeod said, "I guess I do wonder, some. When I woke up in the hospital they told me my heart had stopped and I was revived by the emergency personnel."

Paul knew he was taking a risk confronting him, but he felt the man's problems stemmed from his death and revival and that he needed to work through those emotions. It must have been a frightening experience for him. Before he could say more, however, Paul noticed an abrupt change of attitude in MacLeod. He was looking around as if he heard something, and the strange energy current became even stronger.

Knowing MacLeod was in no shape to face the Immortal they were both feeling, Richie glanced at Mac and said, "I just remembered something I've got to do. Why don't you guys go up to the loft and talk some more. I'll be back as soon as I can." As Richie rushed out the back door, he grabbed his coat and sword.

MacLeod didn't really want to talk, but knew it would be better if the mortals stayed inside while Richie took care of business outside. If they had been alone, Duncan would have insisted on being the one to take the challenge.

Duncan wondered _who the Immortal was and felt concern for Richie's well-being. But the young man had been practicing and was good with a sword. He would be able to easily hold his ground against any Immortal of average skill, and stood a good chance against one of superior skill. _Duncan just hoped there wouldn't be a Quickening to explain. "Yes, come on up to the loft and we can get something to drink."

"You guys go on," Scott said. "I'm going to go take a shower." He ran up the stairs to the locker rooms.

"Scott, no..." Duncan started, but the young man was already gone.

Before Paul and Duncan had reached the elevator, they heard the front doors open and turned to see who was there. Six men in army fatigues with machine guns rushed inside, and surrounded them. Paul wished he could get his sphere. Duncan wished he had his sword, though it would be ineffective against so many. He also knew resistance would only get the two of them shot, and Paul wouldn't come back.

A seventh man, wearing a cheap suit, entered the room and approached the captives. "Well, what do we have here? It's an inhuman monster, a creature that has no business walking this earth...an It."

Paul didn't want to believe that Fox's men had found them again. Why wouldn't Fox just leave them alone? At least Scott was out of the room and maybe he wouldn't be captured.

Duncan didn't want to believe the Hunters were back after so many years of peace. He'd almost forgotten how much Horton and his splinter group of Watchers hated all Immortals. At least Richie was outside and maybe he wouldn't be captured.

At a nod from the leader, one of the men handcuffed each of the captives with their hands behind their back. He then pushed them towards the door.

%%%

Richie knew the other Immortal was close but he couldn't see him.

A woman's voice came from the shadows, "Where's MacLeod?"

"Show yourself," Richie demanded, as he raised his sword in an offensive posture. He still couldn't see anyone, but he heard some muffled talk, and several people moving through the dark towards the front of the building.

"I came for MacLeod. Since he sent you out here, I can only guess he's still inside." The woman came into view with her sword drawn. "I'll take your head first, and then I'll get the Highlander."

She attacked with the swiftness of a cat, and Richie just managed to block the blow aimed at his neck. Her sword swiveled in an arc, and slashed Richie's leg from hip to knee. He grimaced at the pain, but didn't allow her an opening to further the assault.

An approaching car cast its headlights onto the two combatants. Both Immortals concealed their swords. "We'll meet again, young one," April said as she raced around the corner.

Richie started to follow her down the alley when he heard a man's voice from the other side of the building. "Would you hurry up and get them inside. There's a car coming." Richie made it around the corner just in time to see two armed men scramble into the back of a van as it pulled away. He limped back inside and met Scott coming down the stairs from the locker rooms. "What happened in here?" Richie asked.

"What?"

"Where are Mac and your father?"

"They said they were going up to the loft."

A quick look at the elevator, which was still on this floor, told Richie they were probably not up there. But just to be sure he ran up the stairs.

Scott followed and bumped into Richie when he stopped only half way up. "Why'd you stop?"

"There're not here."

"How can you tell?" Scott frowned.

_Yes, how?_ Richie thought. "I just can." As they descended the stairs, Richie said, "Some men in a van just took someone away and I think it was Mac and your father. Didn't you see anything?"

Scott shook his head. _Fox must have been here_, he thought. _But why would Fox take MacLeod? _As they reached the main floor again, Scott noticed the bloody gash in Richie's pants. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing." Richie was telling the truth since the wound had already healed.

"There's a lot of blood. It can't be nothing," Scott insisted, as he bent down to try to get a better look at Richie's leg. Before he could see anything, a voice sent chills up his spine.

"Scott Hayden, stand where you are with your hands above your head."

Spinning around, Scott faced a tranquilizer rifle in the hands of George Fox. He wanted to reach for his sphere, but was afraid a sudden movement would cause the man to fire. He put his hands on the top of his head and clasped his fingers together. The knot that instantly formed in his stomach felt as big as a basketball.

"Who are you?" Richie asked.

"I'm George Fox with the Federal Security Agency. Who are you?"

Ignoring the question, Richie asked, "What do you want with Scott?"

"That's none of your business. Scott, now why don't you tell me where Forrester is?"

"Tell you where he is?" Scott asked. "Richie said he was just taken out of here in a van. Don't you even know what your own men are doing?"

"My men? I don't..." Not wanting to give away his lack of re-enforcements, Fox stopped. "I didn't have him taken away."

Richie didn't know who this guy was, but he knew he didn't like him. "I'm making it my business." He stepped between Fox and Scott. "Now, tell me what's going on here."

"Get out of the way, son, you're interfering in a matter of national security."

"I'm...not...your...son," Richie said with controlled anger. "And what's this 'national security' business?"

"It would be better for you if you didn't get involved. Now, step aside."

Glancing back over his shoulder, Richie could see fear in Scott's face. Richie advanced towards Fox. "I am involved. Scott is my friend and I don't take threats to my friends lightly."

"Richie, don't." Scott said. "You really don't want to get involved in this."

"Good advice, Hayden. Now, tell me where Forrester is and we'll leave." Fox stepped sideways so he was again directly across from Scott.

"There's no way I'm going to tell you anything about my father," Scott spat.

From Scott's interaction with this man, it seemed clear to Richie this encounter wasn't completely unexpected. Even so, Richie didn't like the man's strong-arm tactics.

"If that's the way you want it." Fox removed a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and started towards Scott. "I'll take you in, and we both know he'll show up to get you."

Richie was certain MacLeod and Paul had been taken by a group of mortals, probably Hunters. "I don't know who you are, but I can tell you, if we don't find Mac and Paul, fast, they will die tonight."

The finality and certainty in the way Richie made that statement caused a look of panic to cross Scott's face. "Who has them?"

"It's hard to explain," Richie said, "but they have been after Mac for years. Paul was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"How can you be so sure they'll be killed?" Scott asked, with his heart in his throat. As he became more anxious, his breath came in short, shallow bursts.

"I just am. I know what kind of people we're dealing with. They are cold-blooded killers and they take no prisoners."

Being so close to getting the alien, and then having It snatched away made Fox very angry. The owner of the bar where the inquiry came from hadn't wanted to cooperate, and the delay had cost Fox precious hours. After some threats and coercion, Fox finally managed to get the name and location of one of Hayden's friends from a waitress and that had led him to this place.

Gesturing at Richie, Fox asked, "If you know so much about these people, do you know where they are?"

Richie knew that if he could get close enough, he would be able to sense Mac. He could also ask Joe for information. "Maybe."

"What about you, Hayden, can you find them?"

"Maybe."

"You two are not helping." Fox waved the tranquilizer rifle toward the pair. "We can wait here as long as you want to keep playing these games."

"But Richie said the men who took him will kill him!" Scott pleaded. Though he was no longer a child, Scott still felt like a major part of his life was being ripped away.

"Maybe," Fox said.

"There's no maybe about it," Richie said deliberately. "They _will_ be killed."

Scott was unsure what to do. He didn't want to lead Fox to his father, but he also didn't want him hurt. He faced Richie. "Are you really sure they are in danger?"

"Absolutely." Richie studied the man in front of him, judged the distance between them and wondered whether he could disarm him.

"What's it going to be, Hayden?" Fox took a couple of steps toward Scott. "Am I going to take you in and wait, or are you going to help find them?"

"I can't." Scott shook his head. "I just can't."

"We really don't have the time to argue about this," Richie moved closer to Scott. "The longer Mac and Paul are in the hands of the Hu...the men who took them, the more chance there is they will die."

Scott had never felt so uncertain about what to do. He considered making a run for it, but knew his chances of getting away were slim. If Richie was right, they needed to hurry and Scott couldn't waste time eluding Fox. Scott studied the face of his tormentor. He knew Fox needed both of them alive to prove to the world that the alien was real. Scott decided if the alternative was having his father killed, they would deal with escaping from the FSA later. Besides, knowing where Fox was all the time could be beneficial. Letting his need to find his father override concerns about giving away his secret, Scott said, "If you'll let me use my sphere, I can find him."

"No way. That's too dangerous...for me," Fox said.

"A what?" Richie questioned.

Ignoring his friend, Scott continued, "I can't do this any other way. Except for when I'm actually using it, you can keep it."

Fox thought for a moment. _He didn't want to lose the alien, but could he trust this half-breed?_ "What would keep you from just knocking me out and going on by yourself?"

"That's a very good question," Scott mused, and allowed himself a small grin.

The smirk on Hayden's face made Fox angry, but he didn't let it show. Allowing the half-breed use the sphere was insanity, but the alternative was unthinkable. Over twenty years of Fox's life had been devoted to this search, and to have the alien killed without being able to prove what It was, was something Fox didn't want to face. He decided he had to take a chance. "I'll be in control of the sphere the rest of the time?"

"Yes."

Fox gestured with the rifle, "This is a high potency tranquilizer. It will put you out in less than a minute and you'll stay out for at least two hours, maybe more."

"I understand," Scott said.

"I don't," Richie muttered.

"Do you?" Fox ignored Richie. "If I feel threatened at any time, I'll pull this trigger. No matter what happens to me, it will be hours before you'll be able to continue the search."

Even though Scott didn't like the circumstances, he felt this was the best option for getting his father back. "I promise I won't hurt you."

"You, Richie wasn't it? Get the sphere and give it to me."

"Do what?" Richie asked.

"It's in my right pocket." Scott turned towards his friend. At Richie's puzzled expression, Scott continued, "Just feel for the round, metallic thing."

Richie put his hand into Scott's pocket and pulled out the sphere. "This ball bearing is what you want?"

"Yes." Fox held out his left hand.

"How is that going to help us find Mac?" As he gave the sphere to Fox, Richie looked between Scott and Fox, but neither offered an explanation.

"Now, both of you," Fox stepped back, "walk out of here, slowly."

A few minutes later, Fox had Scott's left hand shackled to the left back door of the car. Fox got in the front passenger seat and pulled Scott's right hand up to rest on the back of the front seat. Fox cuffed his own left hand to Scott's right. Richie was in the driver's seat.

"Okay, Hayden. Let's get this show on the road." Fox patted the tranquilizer rifle in his lap. "Remember, I can pull this trigger in an instant." Fox placed the sphere in Scott's hand.

With a glance at Richie, Scott concentrated and activated the sphere. "Head south," is all he said.

Richie's mouth fell open as a brilliant blue light came from the round, silver object. "What...?"

"Don't ask questions," Fox snapped. "Just drive."

.

**####################**

.

With his hands cuffed behind him, it was a struggle for Paul to sit up. As he scooted back against the wall of the van he saw that Duncan was already sitting against the other side, facing him. There was a passenger in the front seat of the van, and two men holding rifles sitting cross-legged at the back doors. They were attentive, but didn't seem concerned about the actions of their prisoners. Paul tried to reach the clasp on the cuffs to release them, but couldn't get his fingers in the right position.

Duncan knew that with the skills he had learned from Houdini, he would be able to get out of the cuffs, but there was too much firepower present to try anything in such close quarters. These guys were probably a group of the Hunters, and thus, they would know how to kill an Immortal. He looked at his fellow captive. Death wasn't something MacLeod feared after all these years, but even though he didn't like the guy, Forrester didn't deserve to die.

They had been in the van a little less than a half hour when Paul felt his sphere, which was still in his pocket, make a connection with Scott's. Paul wondered _why Fox's men hadn't taken his sphere and hoped it hadn't been left with him to draw his son into a trap. Scott's impetuousness could lead him into a dangerous situation and get them both captured._

In the cramped confines of the van, Paul's legs were touching Duncan's. The jumble of emotion coming from MacLeod was difficult for Paul to sort out, but one thing came through very clearly. Never one to turn away from a person in need, Paul asked, "Why do you want to die?"

"What?"

"You think you have no reason to go on living. Is it because of what happened in that alley?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." MacLeod studied the face of the man sitting across from him and wondered what kind of story Forrester was fishing for.

The Starman's years among humans had taught him many things, and one of those lessons was that getting a suicidal person to talk out their feelings often helped them past the crisis. "I'm sorry you're in so much pain and I'd like to help. Can you tell me about it?"

"What's your game, Forrester?" Duncan snarled.

"Game?" Feeling MacLeod's anger and understanding its source, Paul asked, "How can I convince you that I'm not the Paul Forrester you knew? I've changed."

"Right, and now you're a psychiatrist? Now you want to get inside my head and 'help me'?"

"I do want to help you." Paul wished he could place a hand on Duncan to calm him, but since that wasn't possible, he did the next best thing. He squirmed around, as if to get more comfortable, and in the process made a more firm contact against Duncan's leg. The sensations he received were strange, confusing, and often violent. He did his best to impart a feeling of tranquility through their tenuous connection. "You've been trying to die for months. Why?"

_I have died, lots of times,_ Duncan thought, _but I don't stay dead. I can't get any peace. _He said nothing_._

Paul received several murky visions like he'd gotten from his first contact with MacLeod in the bar. All were scenes of death. He opened his eyes wide in amazement as he realized they were all images of MacLeod's death. _I wonder if he thinks about how many ways there are to die?_ "Why were you and that woman fighting?"

"She wanted me dead." Duncan knew he couldn't tell this man the whole story, but thought maybe if he gave some answers Forrester would be satisfied and stop asking questions. _How could Duncan explain that April wanted to kill him because he had killed her husband a few days prior to their battle? How could Duncan explain that while with a resistance cell in France during World War II, he had killed April's mortal lover before the man could betray their position to the Nazis? It was all just more proof that Immortals couldn't have lasting relationships. April's companions, like his, always died._

The emotion and thoughts that came from MacLeod were unlike anything Paul had experienced on this planet. Never before had contact with a human given him so much insight into a person's mind. It was almost as if they were linked at some basic energy level. "She felt you had wronged her in some way?"

MacLeod frowned at the man sitting across from him. _Surely, Forrester was only after a story, but his questions were hitting too close to home._ MacLeod didn't answer.

The memory of seeing the woman trying to kill MacLeod – no, actually killing MacLeod, swam before Paul's eyes. "I just don't understand why some people want to hurt other people." Paul sighed and looked at the two men at the back of the van, then continued almost in a whisper, "I don't understand why some people fear those who are different from themselves."

Duncan glanced at their guards, and then turned back to Forrester and thought, _that's a strange thing for him to say. Does he know something about Immortals that he isn't telling?_

They rode in silence for another half hour before Paul tried again. MacLeod's emotions were still in turmoil and Paul wanted to bring him some peace if he could. "You have good friends that care for you and would be very upset if you were no longer around."

As Connor's words, 'Immortals can't be friends', echoed in his mind, Duncan said without thinking, "My friends all die." Then, realizing what he'd said, Duncan wondered why it seemed so right to talk to Forrester. He searched the man's face for a reaction to this revelation and saw only compassion and understanding.

"You've recently lost a friend. Is that why you're so unhappy?"

Remembering not just Lonny Creamer, but the multitude of others he had buried in four centuries, and even his strained friendship with Connor, Duncan nodded.

"It must be hard to face the death of someone close to you."

"You have no idea."

"No, I don't." Paul felt a pang of sorrow as he remembered Jenny. "I've never had a friend die, but I have had to leave friends behind."

"Making friends is so useless. They all leave, or die, or..." Duncan couldn't finish aloud as he thought, _or I kill them._ Sean Burn's face swam before him and Duncan relived that terrible instant in which he took his good friend's head. Duncan saw himself standing over Richie, katana raised above his head and Richie just one swing of the sword from death. Duncan closed his eyes in an attempt to block the painful memories.

A stream of images he didn't understand bombarded Paul's brain, but it seemed he was on the right track with what was at the heart of MacLeod's troubles. "I don't think it's useless. My son and I have learned to value the friends we make during our travels. For however short the time we are able to spend with them, it is worth the pleasure they bring."

"Is it? Is it really worth the pain when they're gone?"

"Yes, absolutely," Paul said with conviction. "A brief happiness is better than no happiness at all."

Duncan's reply was cut off as the van came to a stop. Paul and Duncan were pulled from the vehicle and taken into a large house overlooking the Pacific Ocean. They were led to a small upstairs room, and shoved inside. As the guards left, Duncan shouted, "Aren't you even going to take off these handcuffs?" His only answer was the click of the door lock.

With the eye of a practiced soldier, Duncan surveyed the room. It was about twelve feet square, with no windows. The furniture consisted of two twin beds with a nightstand between them. There was a small bathroom in an adjoining room.

Duncan was considering his options, when the door opened and the man in the cheap suit came in. "Well, MacLeod, we finally have you," smiling at Paul, he continued, "and a bonus."

"And who are you?" Duncan asked.

"My name isn't important, but I think you already know who we are."

"Hunters," Duncan said with disgust.

"That's right," Cheap Suit gloated. "After you killed Horton, the Watchers purged their ranks, but some of us went into hiding. We organized in small groups all over the world until we regained enough strength to come after your kind again."

Barely controlling his anger, Duncan asked, "When are you going to understand we're not a threat to mortals?"

"But you are! Our goal, our mission is to save the human race by eliminating your kind from the world. You are all creatures, freaks that can't be allowed to live. "

With a slight widening of the eyes, and chin drop, Paul turned quickly from watching the speaker to look at Duncan. Paul saw no reaction to this statement, a statement that he would expect from Fox to be directed at himself. Who was this man and why was he calling Duncan a creature?

Paul's reaction to the exchange wasn't lost on Duncan. "So why didn't you kill me at the dojo? Why drag me...us, all the way out here?"

Cheap Suit smirked. "Because the boss wants the pleasure of taking your head himself. He'll be here in the morning, so you have one more night to live. And MacLeod, use it to think about all the people you've killed in four hundred years. You've got a lot to atone for."

Glancing at his fellow captive, Duncan said, "Forrester isn't a part of this. You have to let him go."

"Why should I? He's one of you, isn't he?"

"No, he's not. He's a mortal."

Thinking for only an instant, Cheap Suit said, "Well, if he's a friend of yours, mortal or Immortal, he will die with you. That's the price people pay for knowing you."

A stab of pain pierced MacLeod's heart. The truth was that everyone around him did die.

Cheap Suit started to leave, and then turned to face MacLeod. "And just so you know why I hate you so much, my name is Carlin Wolf. Pallin Wolf was my father." With that he closed the door and locked it.

Duncan stared at the door for a moment, then turned to Paul and attempted a half-grin. "I imagine all of that was pretty confusing."

"Yes, it was. Who was Pallin Wolf?"

"Before I explain, I've got to get us out of these handcuffs." In a few seconds, MacLeod had his hands free, then walked over behind Paul and released his arms.

"How did you do that?" Paul had expected to be the one to remove their restraints and this turn of events was puzzling. Actually, a lot of the last five minutes had been a big puzzle.

Duncan laughed. "I learned that trick from Houdini." The men each sat on a bed as Duncan began to explain. "Pallin Wolf was one of the Hunters. He kidnapped Tessa to lure me into a trap and I had to kill him."

"Tessa?"

"You remember her...from Paris?" At the blank look on Paul's face, Duncan continued, "She was my best friend and...lover for thirteen years." He paused, not wanting to relive the pain of her death.

In a few seconds, Paul asked, "What about the other man? Did you kill him?"

"Yes." Duncan saw a pained expression cross Paul's face. "Horton killed a good friend of mine and he tried to kill me, several times. I had no choice."

The scenes of violence Paul had seen through his contact with MacLeod started to make sense. Not really make sense, because Paul didn't understand killing for any reason, but their meaning was becoming clear. "He said you have been killing for four hundred years. That's not possible. Humans don't live that long."

Realizing there was little point in trying to hide his true nature, Duncan said quietly, "Some of us do."

Paul thought for a long minute about what he'd learned of human physiology. While he'd never come across a race of humans who were long lived, it seemed he was now faced with one. He wondered _why none of the books he had read had mentioned these people._

"Who are the Hunters and why do they want to kill you?" Paul asked.

It surprised Duncan that Paul had accepted his statement about living so long without question. He studied his inquisitive, but non-accusing face for a moment before answering. "The Hunters believe all of my kind are evil. They hate us and want to destroy us just because we're different. They don't even consider us human." Duncan paused briefly when he heard what sounded like gun shots in the distance. "Wolf told Tessa that I was an It."

"Wolf called you an It?" Paul smiled in spite of himself.

"I'm not an It. I am an Immortal. We're very long-lived and very hard to kill, but I am as human as you."

_As human as me,_ Paul thought, _but this time he didn't smile_. "You said 'we'. So you're not the only one?"

Before Duncan could respond, he felt another Immortal. Almost simultaneously, the door was unlocked and a man carried in a body, dumped it on the floor and left without saying a word. The shirt on the body was bloody from two gunshot wounds.

.

**####################**

.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Fox asked as he placed the sphere in Hayden's hand. Intermittently throughout the last hour the half-breed had used the sphere to track the alien.

Scott rolled his eyes and activated the sphere. "Yes, I'm sure."

"How can you be so certain?" Richie glanced over his shoulder at Scott and the strange object that again filled the car with a blue glow. "What is that thing?"

"Keep your eyes on the road," Fox snapped.

Scott hoped he wasn't making a big mistake. The idea of trusting Fox and leading him to his father went against everything he believed in.

As Richie faced forward again, he considered his options. He had to find a way to get the weapon away from Fox but the confines of the car was not the place to try anything.

"Take this next exit," Scott said. After they drove down an isolated country lane for several minutes, Scott announced, "We're here. It's that large brick house up ahead."

Fox took the sphere from Scott and put it in his pocket. "Park the car across the street." After Richie complied with the request, Fox said, "Now, you come with me. I don't trust leaving you alone with Hayden." As Richie exited the car, Fox shackled Scott's right hand to the back right car door.

"So what are you going to do," Richie asked, "shoot them all?"

"No." Fox put the tranquilizer rifle on the car seat. "Move. And don't try anything funny. Stay where I can see you."

As they approached the house Richie hoped he would feel the presence of another Immortal, but nothing came to him. If Mac was here, he was either dead or too far away to sense.

Pulling out his badge, Fox knocked on the door. In a few minutes, he heard voices, and then the door jerked open.

"Whadda you want?" A very large, ruddy-faced man asked.

Fox held up his badge. "I'm George Fox with the FSA. I need to talk to whoever is in charge."

"A Fed!" In a flash, the man pulled a gun from a shoulder holster and leveled it at Fox.

Without even thinking, Richie jumped in front of Fox and took two bullets in the chest.

As the young man collapsed at his feet, Fox dove for cover. Two more bullets whizzed over his head, and then he heard shouting from the house.

"What do you think you're doing, you idiot?" Wolf barked.

"I was...I was just going to scare him some. I thought the kid was coming for me," Ruddy-face said.

"So you shot him! Don't you have any sense?" Wolf shouted.

"Well, I got rid of them, didn't I?" Ruddy-face sneered.

"No! The other one is still out there, and he'll probably bring help." Wolf bent down and searched the body. When he found the sword inside the coat, he knew he had another one. Wolf glared at his underling. "Take him in with the other two." As the man left, Wolf shut the door and grumbled to himself, "Now, we're going to have to clear out of here." Wolf slashed the air with the rapier. "The boss won't like it, but maybe I should just take the heads and get it over with."

Fox watched the large man pick up Richie's body and go inside the house. _Why did the kid do it_, Fox wondered. _Why did the kid intentionally take the bullets meant for me?_ Fox made his way cautiously back to the car and got inside.

"What did you do?" Scott shouted. "You got Richie shot!"

"I didn't." Fox looked at the young man in the back seat. "He just jumped in front of me."

Scott leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, saying in a whisper, "Why would he do that?"

"What did you say?" Fox started the car.

His anger returning, Scott shouted, "Why didn't you get him away from them? You don't know that he was dead." When he felt the tears come, he wished he had his hands free so he could wipe them away.

Fox knew he needed reinforcements. He drove off to find the nearest police station.

"You can't leave him!" Scott took a ragged breath as he tried to control his emotions. "Richie was my friend. Do you know what it's like to lose a friend?"

With his eyes fixed on the road, Fox said nothing, but he thought about the answer to Scott's question. _My whole life has been taken up with work, and for the last twenty-four years with the search for the alien. I don't know what it's like to lose a friend because I've never been close enough to someone to call them 'friend'._

"For ten years, I've been losing friends because of you, but until now, at least they've been alive when I had to leave them!" Scott paused. "What about my father? We can't leave him here. They'll kill him like they did Richie."

Fox drove in silence looking for any law enforcement agency. _Richie had been right. These men were cold-blooded killers._ The scene at the house kept playing over and over in Fox's mind – the bullets hitting Scott's friend in the chest, the grimace on the young man's face at the moment he was shot, Richie collapsing at his feet. From the points of impact, Fox knew Scott's friend was dead.

.

**####################**

.

Paul was at the man's side in an instant, examining him. "It's Richie! One bullet punctured a lung, and the other tore through his liver."

"How can you know so much about his injuries?" Duncan asked as he knelt beside Paul.

Reaching for his sphere, Paul said, "That isn't important. I have to help him."

"Wait, Paul. You don't need to do anything."

He paused for an instant, "Yes, I do. I can help him."

Duncan grasped Paul's arm. "I mean, he doesn't need any help."

"But I've seen injuries like this before. His condition is serious and he's not going to live much longer." Paul struggled to get out of Duncan's grip.

"Listen," Duncan commanded, "Richie is like me and those wounds won't kill him, permanently anyway."

Paul looked down at Richie as he coughed and died. "You're sure he's going to be all right?"

"I'm positive." Duncan released Paul. "The only way to kill one of us is by beheading."

"That night in the alley, you died?"

Duncan nodded.

"And that woman," Paul shuddered at the image he envisioned, "she was going to cut off your head?"

Duncan nodded again.

The direct physical contact with Duncan combined with their conversation suddenly made things very clear. "The images...the sword...the deaths... Now they all make sense!" Paul exclaimed.

"What?"

"It's hard to explain, but I can sometimes feel things about people. I kept seeing visions from you that I didn't understand, things that should have existed only in history books. You weren't thinking of ways to die, I was seeing your past deaths. Are you really as old as that man said?"

As they returned to sit again, Duncan nodded. "I was born in 1592."

Paul thought over the earlier things MacLeod had told him about the night in the alley. "If the woman felt you had wronged her in some way, why did she want to kill you? Why not just talk it over and come to some kind of understanding."

"Because Immortals don't talk – we kill each other."

"Why?"

"We just do. It's what my kind has been doing for thousands of years."

Remembering some of the images he'd seen, Paul stated rather than asked, "You've killed people."

"Many times."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Most of the time," Duncan thought of Connor as he continued. "It's hard to reconcile how I feel with what has to be done. To deny the necessity of killing is to deny what it means to be an Immortal." When Paul didn't respond, Duncan continued, "I know this is all very strange. You should never have been brought into the middle of it."

"It's not the strangeness that bothers me. I just don't understand all the brutality...all the death..., yet you seem to accept it as inevitable."

"For me, it is." Duncan studied the innocent face in front of him. He wondered _why he felt so comfortable talking to this man he barely knew. It was as if Forrester could see into his soul._ "You seem a lot different from the way you were before."

"I told you, I'm not the same man I was."

"So, you're not just out to get a story?"

Paul placed a hand on Duncan's arm. "No."

"You can't tell anyone about us." For some reason that he didn't understand, Duncan now knew he could trust Forrester. "The Hunters fear us because we're different. They want to hunt us down and kill all of my kind." Duncan got up and stared down at Richie's body. "You can't know what it's like to be hated...to be hunted just because you're different."

_Well, maybe I can,_ Paul thought to himself. "I'll keep your secret."

Richie drew in a deep breath, and then clutched at the pain in his chest. Getting shot sure hurt. As he became aware of his surroundings, he sensed another Immortal and reached for his sword. It wasn't there.

"You won't need that," Duncan said as he went to Richie's side.

"Mac! We found you!"

"We? Who are we?" Duncan asked, reaching down to help Richie up.

"Scott and I and some government guy."

Instantly, Paul was on his feet standing beside the pair of Immortals. "What government guy?"

"Some really obnoxious FSA agent named..."

"...Fox," Paul finished. "Where is Scott now?"

"Uh, I imagine Fox still has him. After I..." Unsure how to continue he trailed off and glanced at Mac.

"It's all right. He knows about us."

"Well, after I was shot I didn't know anything until I woke up here." Richie shrugged. "Sorry."

"We've got to get Scott away from Fox." Paul went to the door and began to examine the lock.

"Who is that guy?" Richie asked. "When he came to the dojo he said he was looking for both you and Scott, but he wouldn't tell me why. What did you guys do to get the government after you?"

Paul turned towards the others. "We didn't do anything. Fox wants us because of who we are."

"What do you mean, 'who you are'?" Duncan asked.

"Fox fears us and wants to capture us because..." Paul hesitated for a moment, then looked directly into Duncan's eyes, "...because he thinks we're freaks and a danger to the human race." Paul removed the sphere and activated it creating a vortex around the three of them. It allowed Duncan and Richie to see images of what Paul described. "I first came to this planet about twenty-four years ago. I met a woman named Jenny Hayden and gave her a son, but I had to leave. A little less than ten years ago, I came back when my son called me. We've been traveling together ever since, trying to find Jenny and stay away from Fox."

"So you're...you're an alien? Like from another planet?" Richie asked.

Paul nodded.

"But you look like us. Do all aliens look like humans?" Richie questioned.

"In my natural form I look a lot like this blue light. I found Paul Forrester's dead body, and cloned this one from it."

"So," Duncan said, "that's why you don't remember Tessa or me. You weren't in Paris."

Paul raised his eyebrows a couple of times quickly and smiled. "I told you I'd changed."

"Is Scott an alien too?" Richie motioned toward the vortex. "He made a blue light like this in the car."

"My son is human, his mother is from Wisconsin. But he is also like me." Paul closed his fingers over the sphere, shutting down the vortex. "Because of who we are, Fox wants to hunt us down, put us in a cage and study us."

"Oh, man," Richie said, "this is too weird."

Duncan smiled at Paul. "No weirder than people who live forever, huh?"

"No," Paul agreed with a quick smile. He then turned back to the door. "We have to get out of here, now."

"How do you plan to do that?" Richie asked.

Paul held the sphere up between his thumb and index finger. "I'm an alien, I have these powers."

"I wondered what that thing was Scott used to lead us here." Richie pointed to the sphere in Paul's hand. "It's an alien gizmo, like that?"

"Yes," Paul laughed, "it's an alien 'gizmo' like this."

.

**####################**

.

"Finally," Fox exclaimed as he pulled into the brightly lit parking lot of the police station. He reached over the seat and unlocked one set of the handcuffs.

"So what now?" Scott said angrily as he rubbed his sore wrists the best he could.

"You're going to come with me and stay quiet." In a few minutes Fox had Scott out of the car and handcuffed to him. Inside the police station, Fox stood at the counter for several minutes and no one noticed them. "Excuse me," Fox said in a raised voice, "I need some help here."

The dispatcher looked up from her console and motioned for Fox to wait. She continued to speak into her mike for several more minutes, and then walked to the counter. "I'm sorry, sir, but we're short-handed tonight and really busy. What can I help you with?"

Fox already had his badge in his hand and held it up for the woman to see. "I'm George Fox with the Federal Security Agency. I need some help in securing a prisoner."

The woman looked Scott over as she asked, "Do you want to put him in a cell?"

"No, not him," Fox said quickly. "There is another I must apprehend and I need some backup."

"What is he wanted for?"

"I can't tell you that, it's class…"

Just then she got another call on the radio and had to leave to handle it.

Fox was stunned when the woman left him in mid-sentence.

When she returned, Fox had trouble controlling his temper. "It doesn't matter what the charge is, that's classified. I just need to get the fugitive into custody as soon as possible."

"Look, mister, if you can't give me more reason than that, I can't help you. Like I said, we're really busy tonight."

"This is more important than your petty…"

The dispatcher held up her hand to indicate Fox should wait as she answered the phone and returned to the radio to take several more calls.

Fox tried to control his temper as he thought, _here I am, trying to save this planet from the greatest threat ever to face the human race, and this woman won't even listen to me!_ He watched as a couple of uniformed officers walked through the back of the office taking a prisoner with them. He tried to get their attention, but either they ignored him or didn't see him. Another man, possibly a plain clothes detective, was talking on the phone in a side office and had his back to the counter. Fox fidgeted as he waited impatiently for the dispatcher to return.

In spite of his situation, Scott was amused to see the distress on his tormentor's face. Scott looked down at the shackle that bound him to Fox and began to gently touch the locking mechanism with his free hand. He hadn't really mastered the ability to open locks without the sphere, but this was a good time to try again.

The dispatcher came back to the counter. "Listen, Mr. Fox, unless you can tell me that a crime has been committed in our jurisdiction, or you have a warrant, you'll just have to wait until morning and talk to the captain."

"A crime!" Fox exclaimed. "Yes, I saw a murder."

Suspicious of the man's sudden revelation, the woman asked, "Why didn't you say that before?"

"I…I…" Fox didn't quite know how to answer.

.

**####################**

.

Paul placed his hand on the door knob, and in seconds the lock clicked open.

"Oh, boy," Richie said. Remembering his misspent youth when his only aspiration was to become a better thief, he continued, "There was a time when the ability to do that would have come in handy."

Duncan gave Richie a quick look for even thinking about such things. He then motioned for Paul to step aside and silently opened the door a crack. The single guard was quickly knocked unconscious.

"You didn't harm him, did you?" Paul asked.

Slightly surprised at the question, Duncan said, "No. He'll have a headache, but he's not hurt."

The three men headed toward the staircase and went down. On the second floor landing, Duncan took out another guard. At Paul's look of dismay, he whispered, "He'll be all right."

On the ground floor, there were two more men seated near the front door. Their attention was focused on a card game and they didn't see the former captives.

Duncan saw Wolf standing in the next room brandishing a sword. Tilting his head towards the man, he whispered to Richie, "That's yours, isn't it?"

Richie nodded yes and entered the side room. Paul and Duncan followed, and Duncan closed the door behind them.

Before Wolf even knew there were others in the room, Richie had his arm around Wolf's neck, choking him. The rapier clattered to the floor.

"So, Mr. Wolf," Duncan said coldly as he picked up the sword, "now the tables have turned." He placed the tip of the blade against Wolf's chest, above his heart. "What do you think we should do with you?"

Unable to speak through the hold around his neck, the terror on the man's face was apparent. He knew he was about to die.

Paul looked anxiously at the scene. These two men certainly knew a lot about how to use physical violence. It wasn't something he liked being a part of. "Richie, Duncan, don't."

"Why not?" Richie asked. "He was going to kill us, all of us, just because we're different. You know what that's like."

"That doesn't mean you should hurt him," Paul stated calmly as he placed a hand on Carlin Wolf's shoulder.

Duncan lowered the blade. "You're right, Paul. Revenge and more violence isn't the answer." He gestured to Richie to release Wolf.

"But, Mac," Richie pleaded, "they'll just come after us again."

Wolf was no longer frightened even though the choke hold was still in place. In fact, he was surprised to suddenly feel very relaxed.

"I know, Rich, and if that happens we'll deal with it then. But now," Duncan glanced at Paul, "is not the time to push it."

When Richie released Wolf he expected the man to scream for help, but he just stood silently. Richie looked at Paul. "You're doing something to him, aren't you?"

"I'm just calming his fears. I'm not really 'doing' anything to him."

"Geez," Richie exclaimed, "and I thought Immortals were weird."

Paul dropped his hand from Carlin's shoulder and the man remained quiet.

"Well, the least you can let me do is take the guy's clothes," Richie said. "Both my shirt and pants are bloody."

Duncan laughed. "I don't imagine that will hurt anything. Mr. Wolf, would you be so kind as to give Richie your shirt and pants?"

"What?" Wolf asked. He was still feeling dazed.

When he saw Wolf's uncertain expression, Duncan continued, "We're not going to hurt you, Richie just needs to borrow your suit."

"Well..." Wolf glanced uncertainly between Richie and Duncan. "I guess so."

A few minutes later, Richie had on Wolf's suit. His rapier fit neatly inside the coat even though it didn't have a magic pocket. "Okay, now we have two guards at the front door and who knows how many more outside. How do we get past them?" With a glance at Wolf who was sitting quietly over in a corner, Richie asked, "I don't suppose you could do your trick on the others, Paul?"

"No, that won't work." Paul took out the sphere. "But this will." In an instant the room was filled with a blue glow that surrounded the three men.

"What's that?" Richie reached out to try to touch the aura.

"In simple terms, it's an energy shield and it will keep us safe."

"Great! This is like 'shields up, Mr. Worf'," Richie laughed. "A real alien force field, right?"

"Something like that," Paul smiled. "I'm not bullet proof like the two of you."

"We're not either," Duncan said, "and getting shot while escaping would slow us down."

"It also hurts," Richie rubbed his chest.

The sight of the three men surrounded by the blue glow startled the two guards at the door. The slimmer man didn't move from the table as he stared with his mouth hanging open. The large ruddy-faced man pulled his gun and began to fire. "I already shot you once tonight. This will put you down again."

Richie flinched when the bullets came rushing towards them, but relaxed when he realized they were falling harmlessly to the floor. They didn't even ricochet off the shield. "Hey, Paul, this is cool."

The ruddy-faced man continued to fire as the captives walked out, deliberately ignoring him. Outside the house there was one car and the van.

"Let's take the car," Richie suggested. "It'll move faster."

"Right," Duncan agreed, "but we need to disable the van to keep them from having a way to follow."

"I'll take care of that," Paul said.

The ruddy-faced man had emptied his weapon and reloaded, and another two guards had come from somewhere inside the house. All fired on the escaping group, but all the energy from their bullets was absorbed by the shield.

When the three got to the car, they found its doors unlocked. As he got into the back seat, Duncan said, "Richie, you drive."

Figuring he would need to hot-wire the car, Richie got in and ducked under the dash. He hadn't even started when a loud popping made him raise his head. Three more times he heard the noise and then Paul was in the seat beside him.

Paul reached out, touched the ignition switch and the car roared to life.

Richie stared at the man sitting beside him.

When a hail of bullets started to pelt the back of the car, Duncan shouted, "What are you waiting for? Drive!"

Placing the car in gear, Richie floored it. In seconds they were down the lane and onto the road. After they were clear of the danger, Richie asked, "What did you do back there? What was that noise?"

Paul shrugged. "I blew out the tires on the van. They won't be following us."

"I guess not," Richie agreed.

As Paul held the sphere in his hand, it glowed softly.

"You're doing the same thing Scott did, aren't you?" Richie asked.

"Yes," Paul said, "we can find each other with the sphere."

Richie laughed. "Sort of like feeling an Immortal, only at a much longer range."

Paul raised an eyebrow, "Feeling an Immortal?"

"It's a little hard to explain." Duncan paused, trying to decide how to continue. "Whenever we get close to another Immortal we feel a sensation that is something like a headache, but not really. It can feel like a cold chill running down your back, but that's not really right either." He shrugged. "There just isn't anything like it in the mortal world."

"To me," Richie added, "it's like a mild electric shock running through my body."

"I understand," Paul nodded. "It's the energy force Scott and I feel when we touch you."

"You feel it too?" Duncan asked. "But you're not..."

Paul smiled. "No, we're not Immortals, but we do have senses the average human doesn't."

"I'll say," Richie agreed. Several minutes passed before he asked, "Where should I be heading?"

"We're going the right direction." Paul paused for a moment. "Knowing Fox, I assume he'll try to get the local police to help him. It wouldn't surprise me if that's where we end up."

"In that case, we'll need a plan," Richie said.

Paul grinned. "Let me tell you about the time I had a cold and was in the hospital."

.

**####################**

.

"I asked you a question, Mister." The dispatcher demanded. "Why didn't you say there had been a murder when you first came in here?"

"I tried," Fox lied. "But you wouldn't stay here long enough to listen." He really didn't want to get involved in a local police case, but if it got him some backup to go find the alien and the men holding It, he would play along.

Rolling her eyes at the obvious falsehood, the dispatcher picked up the phone and dialed the extension of the detective's office. "Art, you better come out here. We have a reported homicide."

In a few minutes, a tall slender man approached the counter. "Hello, I'm Detective Parkins, and you are?"

Showing his badge again, "I'm George Fox with the Federal Security Agency."

"You're here to report a homicide?"

"Yes."

"Where did this happen?"

"At some house way off the highway," Fox stated.

"That's not very helpful. Can you be more specific?"

"There was a sign," Scott said, "at the corner where we turned off the highway. It said, 'Pacific Palisades'."

"Art," the dispatcher said as she walked over to the counter, "we've gotten a half-dozen calls from neighbors about gunfire at 1452 East Palisade Circle. I've already sent a couple units over there, but that could be it."

Parkins looked Scott over and noticed the handcuffs. "Was this man involved?"

"Uh…, no."

"Then why do you have him shackled?"

"I'm transporting him on a Federal matter." When Parkins just stood waiting for more, Fox continued. "I'm not at liberty to discuss it."

The detective looked down at the much shorter man, but decided not to press that issue, for the moment. "Tell me what you saw."

"A young man was shot as we stood on the porch of a house. He was Caucasian, about five-ten, with short, curly, dark blonde hair. He was in his late-teens or early twenties. His name was Richie something."

"That's strange," Richie said as he walked up to the counter beside Fox, "that sounds a lot like me." He shook the detective's hand. "I'm Richard Roberts. Maybe I can be of some help here?"

"Richie!" Scott exclaimed. He tried to reach out to his friend, but the handcuffs prevented it. Scott caught a subtle look of warning from Richie and said nothing else. He realized something must be up, but he was still puzzled. He knew he'd seen Richie shot in the chest.

"But…but…it can't be you," Fox stammered.

"It's all right, George." Richie put a hand on Fox's arm. "It's me, Richie. I'm from the home. You remember me, don't you?"

"You're dead!" Fox sputtered.

"No, George, I'm not," Richie said in a calm, slow voice.

"You have to be dead. I saw you take two bullets in the chest!"

Catching the detective's eye, Richie shook his head slightly.

"You collapsed in front of me!" Fox continued. "I saw you bleeding; I saw them carry your body into the house. You were dead, or dying!"

"No, George, I'm very much alive. I know you don't like it when I make you take your medicine and you wish I were dead, but it's for your own good."

"That's right, Georgie," Scott said, "Richie is our friend. He helps us."

Fox glared at Scott.

Richie opened his suit coat, and unbuttoned his shirt to reveal smooth, unblemished skin. "Now, George, does this look like I've been shot?"

"No…no…." Fox didn't understand how Richie could be standing in front of him.

As he closed his shirt, Richie looked at the detective. "I'm sorry if he has bothered you, sir. He's a resident in the group home where I work and he has delusions about being in law enforcement. Sometimes he's a federal agent, sometimes a police officer, and sometimes even a secret agent. We try to make sure he stays on the grounds, but sometimes he gets out anyway." Nodding towards Scott, Richie continued, "He convinces one of the other residents to pretend to be his prisoner and he goes off into a world of his own."

Scott shook his head up and down excitedly and looked directly at the detective. "I like to play with Georgie. He makes up really fun games."

"I'm not from a group home and this isn't a game!" Fox shouted as he held up his badge. "I'm George Fox with the Federal Security Agency!"

"Yes, George, I know." Richie clamped his hand around Fox's wrist and squeezed until Fox had to release the badge. "Miss Adams gave you this last Christmas, but you are not supposed to try to make the police think it's real." Richie put the badge in his pocket, and then faced the officer. "Really, there was no murder." Patting Fox on the arm, Richie said, "Now, let's go quietly or I'll have to give you a tranquilizer."

"I won't! I won't go with you." Fox jerked against the hold Richie had on his arm. "I'm a Federal Agent and you can't treat me like this."

Richie just smiled and turned to leave.

"But what about the gunshots reported in that neighborhood?" the dispatcher interjected.

"There could be something happening out there I suppose," Richie conceded, "but it probably isn't gunshots. Often his delusions are instigated by an event in real life, like a car backfiring or a tire exploding." Glancing at Scott, Richie continued, "We'll be going now."

"No! I'm not going anywhere! Help me, Detective!"

As Richie and Scott started to leave, pulling Fox between them, Parkins said, "Wait. The report of a homicide is a serious accusation. Let me check with an officer in the field about the disturbance."

Richie glanced at Scott letting him know with the tilt of his head that if things went badly, they needed to make a run for it. "Really, Detective, that isn't necessary. Look at me. The description he gave you of the victim is me and I'm very much alive."

The detective smiled. "You are right about that. He couldn't have described you better." Parkins paused. "Okay, you can go, but try to keep him out of trouble, will you?"

"Sure thing, Detective." With Richie and Scott both dragging, they got Fox outside.

"What's going on here?" Fox demanded. "You can't treat me like this." He jerked against the two young men.

While Richie was inside, Duncan and Paul switched to Fox's car. The engine was running and it was pointed out of the parking lot when Richie, Scott and Fox got there. Richie opened the back door and slid in, pulling Fox after him. Scott pushed on Fox's other side, and soon all were wedged in the back seat. Duncan drove away from the police station without speeding to not draw undue attention.

"I'm a Federal Agent and you can't do this."

"You already said that." Richie grinned. "But we're doing it anyway."

Paul turned around in his seat and reached towards Fox.

"No! Don't touch me!" Fox shouted.

"Scott?" Paul pulled his hand back as he gave his son a meaningful look.

Understanding his father wanted him to calm Fox, Scott took a deep breath and placed his free hand on Fox's shoulder. He shut his eyes and concentrated.

"Nooooo!" Fox groaned. He jerked sideways but in the close confines of the car could not escape from Scott's touch.

In a few minutes, Richie felt the man beside him relax. He stopped trying to pull away, and sat quietly just like Wolf had done earlier in the evening. "Boy, you guys could put the makers of Valium out of business with that trick."

"And you," Scott said, twisting around Fox so he could see his friend, "I know I saw you get shot."

Richie grinned sheepishly but said nothing.

"Remember the night in the alley?" Paul asked.

"Sure, but what does that…" Scott stared at MacLeod's back. The man driving the car had died in Scott's arms. He again remembered feeling the life drain from the man's body. Scott's eyes got wide and he pointed at Richie then MacLeod. "You're…like…him."

Richie nodded.

"We'll talk about it later," Paul said.

"Yes," Duncan agreed as he accelerated the car onto the freeway heading back towards the city. "So, what's the plan, now?"

"We need to get away as quickly as possible." Paul glanced at the man in the center of the back seat. It seemed Scott had done a good job, perhaps too good, at calming Fox. He sat staring straight ahead. "We can't go back to our apartment. He is probably having it watched."

"What about your stuff?" Richie asked.

Scott sighed. "We lose it, again. We always have to leave things behind."

"Well, can we send it to you?" Richie questioned.

"Maybe," Scott said, dejectedly, knowing the chances of that were slim. It was too dangerous to continue to have contact with anyone after escaping from Fox.

Several minutes later they passed another highway sign. "There's a town about twenty miles ahead," Duncan said. "You might be able to catch a bus or maybe rent a car there."

"That sounds good," Paul said.

.

**####################**

.

Less than a half hour later, Duncan pulled off the freeway and drove through the small town. After a couple of trips through, he stopped in the parking lot of a closed grocery store. "I didn't see any car rental signs, but the bus depot is right across the street."

"Good," Paul said, "we can take the next one out."

"What about him?" Richie pointed at Fox.

Duncan started the car moving again, and parked it behind the store in one of the loading bays. It was recessed into the ground so, from the surface, especially in the dark, the car was almost invisible. "We can leave him here. I don't think anyone will find him until morning."

In a few minutes, Paul had his son released from the handcuff that attached him to the FSA agent, and had Fox secured in the back seat with one hand shackled to each door. He dropped the keys to the car and the cuffs under the steering wheel.

Scott got into the front car seat on his knees. "Well, Fox, I think our collaboration worked very well." Scott reached over the seat and pushed his hand into Fox's pocket. "But you won't need this any longer." He held the sphere in front of Fox for a moment as if contemplating doing something, then got out of the car.

"You can't leave me like this!" Fox shouted. He didn't understand why he'd been sitting quietly for so long, but now he realized the alien was about to escape and he had to do something.

"Uh, oh," Richie grinned at Scott, "I think your magic touch just wore off."

Fox looked at Duncan and Richie as he pulled against his bonds. "You don't know what you're doing. Those two can't be allowed to go free. They are a threat to all of us."

"Really, now, Fox," Duncan asked, "and why is that?"

"They're...they're..." Fox couldn't bring himself to explain the true nature of the alien.

"They're what," Duncan spat, "freaks, inhuman monsters, a threat to mankind, creatures that don't deserve to live?"

"Yes...Yes, you do understand. Now, let me free so I can take them in."

"I don't think so." Richie leaned into the car until his face was very close to Fox's. "It's you who needs to understand something. We aliens stick together, and some of us are very hard to kill." He got out, dropped Fox's badge in the seat, and slammed the car door. "Let's get out of here."

As the four walked around the store and over to the bus depot, Paul said, "I'm not so sure it was a good idea to provoke Fox like that. He knows where you live."

"Maybe you're right," Richie agreed, "but he just made me so mad."

"If he believes you're a threat, he'll come after you," Paul said.

"Let him come," Duncan said. "I survived the witch hunts of the seventeenth century and managed to keep my head during the French revolution. I don't think one government agent will be a problem."

%%%

Paul bought two tickets for the bus to Reno. It wasn't his favorite choice of destinations, but it was the first one scheduled to leave, in just over an hour. Richie and Scott went into the I to get something to eat, leaving the two older men alone. They sat in an isolated corner of the depot where they could talk privately.

"How do you and Scott deal with being on the run all the time?" Duncan asked.

"We just do. We have to if we're going to stay free."

"There have been countless times in my life that I've had to leave a place because it became obvious I wasn't aging, or because someone saw me die. But between those times, I usually have several years to make a life for myself."

"And to make friends?"

"Yes."

"Even though you know those friends will die?"

Duncan studied the man sitting across from him. He'd known Paul for less than a week, but felt almost as close to him as some of the Immortals he'd known for centuries. "Yes, even though I know they will die." He sat without speaking for several minutes. The only sound that interrupted the late-night silence in the depot was the tick of the large clock on the wall. "Sometimes the pain is overwhelming, yet everyone I know expects me to be a rock and never let anything get me down."

"But you're not a rock, are you?"

"No. I'm just a man. I'm not perfect, yet everyone expects me to be. I'm 'The Highlander', a hero to some and a target to others."

"I imagine that's a hard reputation to live up to."

"It is. I had a friend once who warned me to never be the best. If you're the best at something there is always someone out there wanting to take it away from you." Duncan stared at the ceiling tiles. When he spoke again, almost in a whisper, it was more to himself than to Paul. "For Immortals, that means kill or be killed."

Remembering the many visions of violence and death he'd seen through his contact with MacLeod, Paul shuddered. He would never truly understand this man's life. The concept of taking a life in order to survive was too foreign to Paul's being. A cold chill went up his spine at the terrible images.

As Duncan worked through his emotions, he continued to ramble without even realizing he was speaking aloud. "In the last few months I've done very poorly in all my battles."

"You were trying to die?" From the physical contact Paul had had with MacLeod, he knew this was true, but also knew it was important for Duncan to face his own feelings.

"I guess I have been." The realization of this fact startled Duncan.

After a short time, Paul prodded, "Why do you think that is?"

"I...I don't think I really wanted to die...to commit suicide, I just wanted the pain and loss to stop."

"And now...?"

"Now I know letting someone take my head isn't the answer." Duncan looked through the window of the cafeteria and watched Richie and Scott talking animatedly.

"Richie thinks the world of you. Where would he be if you hadn't been there for him?"

Duncan didn't answer, but remembered what Richie had said to him. _If it weren't for you, Mac, I'd be dead._

"There are critical moments in everybody's life," Paul continued, "and we are all shaped by our interactions with those we meet."

"You're right." Duncan turned back to face Paul. "I once told Richie almost the same thing. Seeing what you and Scott have to give up makes me realize how lucky I am. My friendships end, usually by death, but the same thing happens to everyone. It's a part of life."

"And because you have such a long life, you see more of it than most men. But you also have more of a chance to make long-lasting friendships and to have a positive impact on people's lives."

The image of Robert and Gina's three-hundredth wedding anniversary party flashed in Duncan's mind. It was through Mac's direct intervention that their marriage had survived and they were on track to another century of life together. "In four centuries there have been more good times than bad. It just took a kick in the head to make me stop wallowing in self-pity and see that."

Paul frowned and wondered who had kicked Duncan, then realized it was only an expression.

"Or maybe, it was a visit from an alien." Duncan laughed a deep, hearty laugh and Paul joined in. "You're a good man, Paul Forrester, and I'm glad we got to know each other."

"I think you're feeling a lot better," Paul observed.

"Yes, I am." Duncan raised an eyebrow. "Did you do this to me?"

"No, you did it all yourself. I just pushed you in the right direction."

%%%

"MacLeod is really that old?" Scott asked incredulously.

"He sure is," Richie laughed, "and sometimes he acts all of it." Richie had explained most of what it meant to be Immortal to Scott, leaving out the part about taking heads. "Mac's my best friend and the closest thing to a father I'll ever have. When I thought he was dead..."

"I know, you were pretty upset."

Richie looked through the glass of the cafeteria at Duncan and Paul. "He's still not...not himself. He doesn't seem to want to live anymore."

Turning to also look at the older men, Scott said, "I'll bet after tonight, he's better."

"How do you know that?"

Scott placed a hand on Richie's arm and their eyes met. Scott smiled.

A warm, encouraging feeling filled Richie and he realized it was coming from Scott. "Your dad will really do that?"

As he removed his hand, Scott shrugged. "I don't know exactly what he'll do, but I'm certain he won't leave MacLeod as long as he's hurting."

Several seconds of silence passed before Scott spoke again. "Why did you jump in front of Fox back at the house?"

"I couldn't let a mortal get hurt, even one I didn't like." A feeling of regret overcame the young Immortal. "If only I had known what I was sooner, maybe I could have saved Tessa."

"Tessa? Who was she?"

While they finished eating their pizza, Richie told Scott the story of his first death and how Mac's mortal lover had died in the same attack.

.

**####################**

.

As they watched the bus for Reno pull out of the station, Richie asked, "So what now, Mac? Do we go after the Hunters?"

"Not here. They'll come for us again and we can deal with them on our home ground. Next time, we'll be ready."

Richie nodded at the wisdom in this.

The older man grinned. "Right now, we're going to take a bus back to the city, get some rest, and then I'm going to kick your butt."

"You think so, huh? Remember our last match? I bested you three times in a row."

"You won't do it again." Duncan put his arm around Richie's neck and gave him a playful hug.

Richie pulled away. "We'll just see about that. Go buy the tickets. I'll wait for you over here." Richie smiled from ear to ear as Mac walked away. Scott had been right. This was the MacLeod he knew.

While he stood at the counter waiting for the agent to complete the transaction, Duncan thought, _I'm going to give Connor a call, as soon as it's a decent hour in Scotland. We're all richer because of the friends we have and I don't want to let a misunderstanding end my oldest friendship. Remembering his last battle, Duncan realized the truth in Connor's words. Part of the price we have to pay for our Immortality is constantly defending our lives at the expense of others. April carries a lot of hatred because of her lost loves. She'll come for me again, but next time, I'll be ready._

%%%

"Is he going to be all right, Dad?" Scott turned towards his father and saw his face only in brief flashes as the bus passed the highway lights.

"Yes, he'll be okay. Deep down, he's strong. He's lived a long time and..."

"That's for sure." Scott glanced around to be sure no one could hear their conversation. "Richie told me he knows a woman who is over eleven hundred years old. Now, that is an old lady."

"Scott, that's not a very nice thing to say."

"Well, it's true."

Paul rolled his eyes and stared at his son momentarily. "As I was saying, the pain just mounted up for Duncan until it was too much for him. He didn't even realize he was trying to end his life."

"I had a health class once where they told us about depression and suicide. The teacher said most people who think about suicide don't really want to die, they are just facing some emotional problem for which they see no other way out. They told us if we ever felt like giving up we should find someone to talk with about our feelings."

"It must really be difficult for people like Duncan and Richie to find someone to talk to about things that bother them."

"I'll say," Scott agreed. "They can't tell anyone what they are any more than we can."

"That's right. I'm glad we were there when they needed somebody."

"So what did you do?"

"I helped Duncan realize he still has a reason to live." Paul paused briefly. "I finally figured out he was upset because his friends and loved ones die while he goes on."

"For somebody who lives forever, that has to be a big problem." Scott sat quietly for a moment remembering the good times he'd had since he met Richie. "Sort of like what we have to do all the time."

"Yes," Paul agreed. In a few minutes, he closed his eyes to try to sleep. It had been a long night and he was tired. His thoughts soon turned to his new friend.

Paul felt a special kinship with Duncan MacLeod. Paul and his son often had to leave with no warning and no time to prepare for the loss of a friendship. Even though Immortals might have friendships that lasted for centuries, they could be taken away in an instant of unspeakable savagery. It did seem there were many things about Immortals and aliens that weren't all that different.

About a half hour passed before Scott spoke again. "Hey, Dad, I just thought of something."

Roused from his almost sleep, Paul asked, "What?"

"We're going to Reno."

"Yes, I know. You woke me to tell me that?"

Scott laughed. "No, Dad. I was just thinking. Now that I'm over eighteen I'll be able to go into the casinos."

"So?"

"So! Just think of all the things I can do with my powers. It's going to be fun."

"What? You can't..." In the dim light seeping into the bus from the highway lights, Paul could see his son's mischievous look. "You're just pulling my leg, aren't you?"

Scott didn't answer. He just raised his eyebrows a couple of times and grinned.

THE END

.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I use a quotation from Samuel Clemens in this story. According to 'The Merriam-Webster Dictionary of Quotations', Samuel Clemens actually said, "The report of my death was an exaggeration". The book continues on to say the line is often misquoted as "Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." Since Sam was a friend of Duncan's, he would use the right line.

There is a scene in one of the Highlander episodes that played a large part in the genesis of this story. In the second season Highlander episode, "The Darkness" written by Christian Bouveron and Lawrence Shore, a character named Pallin Wolf kidnaps Duncan's mortal lover, Tessa. The following is some of the dialog between Wolf and Tessa.

Tessa: You're a Watcher.  
Wolf: So, you know about us?  
Tessa: Yes, I know about you, but I don't understand you. What in God's name do you think you're doing?  
Wolf: My friends would call it saving the human race, but I do it for other reasons. I get off on it.  
Tessa: Why Duncan?  
Wolf: Because he's a freak.  
Tessa: He's a good, decent man.  
Wolf: He's not a man. He's not human. He's an It.

Is there any wonder why I saw a parallel? Starman has his Fox. Highlander has his Wolf.

Another 'inspirational' scene, also from "The Darkness", that helped in the planning of this story, is one where a fortune teller reads MacLeod's palm. Even though she claims to have no real paranormal gift, she sees visions of his past. I assumed Paul would be able to do no less.

In the story I refer to a 'magic pocket' for the sword. There is no explanation in the series for how Immortals hide three feet of steel under their clothing. Nor is it explained how they can walk, run, drive a car, and then just when they need it, have their sword appear in their hand. The fan explanation is to say it's magic and thus the magic pocket to hold the sword was born.

The Houdini reference in the story requires explanation. I have MacLeod opening handcuffs without any prior preparation which is quite unreasonable. However, my scene came directly from the fourth season Highlander episode, "The Immortal Cimoli" written by Sophia Descroisette and Scott Peters. In the episode an Immortal handcuffs MacLeod's hands behind his back, and then pulls a sword on him. In less than five seconds, MacLeod is out of the cuffs, has his sword drawn, holds up his hand with the dangling cuff, and states that he learned the trick from Houdini. I could have him do no less in my story, even though I know it's probably not the way Houdini would have done it.

The city name used for MacLeod's place of residence is a contraction of Vancouver, where the series is filmed for half its episodes, and Seattle. Since all the license plates seen in the show are from Washington, the implication is they are in the states, and thus Seattle. The name Seacouver was originally coined by fans of the show. In a fifth season episode of Highlander, a newspaper is seen with the name Seacouver. There is also Highlander merchandise available that uses the city name of Seacouver. That the producers of HIGHLANDER picked up the fan reference and used it, is highly gratifying to me.

.

CREDITS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

I want to thank all the people who edited "A Reason to Live" and helped me with suggestions and advice. They are: Michele M, Todd A, Linda R, Abraxan, Sheeplady46, Sonja, Janine S, Russet M, Helen K.

All the people who read this work provided ideas, feedback, and helped me keep the characters from going off on tangents. But a special thanks goes to Michele for her invaluable assistance. Throughout the writing and editing process I called her my second brain. In order for this story to work, I had to have a plausible reason for Duncan MacLeod to get into the state we find him in. It had to be something believable for this very strong character. Michele gave me the idea that became the centerpiece of "A Reason to Live". Thank you, Michele.


End file.
